Prisoners of War
by Lollipop5
Summary: AU: Prince Paris reaches Briseis before Achilles does, but fails to kill Agammemnon. The two of them are captured and taken to Greece...a AchillesParis eventually, and whatever else tickles my fancy. UPDATE: NINE!
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
_How long had it been? There was no telling. He had been lying in the utter darkness for what seemed an eternity.  
Perhaps if there was something for him to do, anything to distract him from the memories that had flooded his mind since he had been captured. But there was nothing. He could not move, he could not see, he could barely even breathe, and his captors hadn't had the mercy to let him starve to death so that he could die and all of it would be done with-or even so that he could concentrate on the hollowness of his belly instead of the guilt that plagued his soul. 'Oh, My Love' He thought. 'If only I had known, if only I had known it would be this way, I never would have-' "Get up!" Someone barked as they delivered a hostile kick to his side. 'Ah, sweet pain.' He thought. For a brief moment he could concentrate on the soreness, wince at the hate that he felt seething into him through his captor's boot-clad foot. But the physical pain died away quickly, and the mental anguish returned. Prince Paris of Troy's eyes squinted shut as his dark world was filled with blinding brightness...  
_  
Helen had tried to keep Paris from going back into the burning city, but he had gone back, to find briseis and his father, knowing that he would not leave his beloved city. Knowing that if his brother had still been alive, it would have been his course of action, and thus his responsibility as the surviving Prince of Troy. He had stumbled upon Briseis being held be King Agamemnon and had immediately aimed an arrow at his neck. The shot would have been a fatal one, but at the last moment a guard had stepped into it's path, both saving the king and alerting him to Paris' position. The army had thrown themselves upon him then, and he did not have enough arrows to protect himself. He could hear Briseis' crying over Agamemnon's order not to kill him and thought at that moment that he had failed her. Failed her and his father and all of Troy. The soldier's had found coarse rope to tie him up with, and Agamemnon had looked down on him, laughing.

"I will never forget your amusing display on the battlefield as you-dare I say-fought my brother. If it hadn't been for yours, he would have cut of your pretty head, do you know that?" Paris bit back a smart retort. Now was not the time, not when he had briseis. "I was just telling your cousin what I planned on doing with her, and now I have two royal Trojans as prisoners instead of one. Isn't that lucky for me? I think that I will keep you both, along with the riches of the city that was once your father's, as a reminder of my victory.

"YOUR victory?" demanded another, deeper and more powerful voice. Paris could not see, but he knew it was Achilles. Achilles who was said to be a Demi-God, Achilles who had slain his brother. Paris felt a wave of hatred pass over him. "I don't remember you fighting any battalions, or engaging in any combats."

"Achilles," said Agamemnon "My champion, why are we fighting now? We have won."

"If _we_ have one, then say so." Achilles said. Paris could see him now, staring at Briseis. If that bastard laid one finger on her... Agamemnon's mood was not to be dampered.

"What is it you want, Achilles?"

"The girl." He said shortly.

"Keep your hands of my cousin you brute!" Paris spat. Agamemnon kicked him but Achilles did not even glance his way.

"Let us go home to Greece. We will celebrate and then decide what is to be done with the girl."

"No. Giver her to me-"

"Careful now, don't forget that her neck is in my hands and I could snap it if you came too close to me." Agamemnon smirked, and the site of it made both Paris and Achilles want to throw up. "I want your word. Swear that you will agree to this and I will not harm her."

"Agreed." Achilles said after a moment. And so Paris was dragged to the boats, thrown below deck and taken to Greece...  
  
Please tell me if I should keep going! Reviews mean lots to me!!!


	2. Chapter One

The light nearly blinded Paris, and every limb and muscle was stiff from inaction. He fell over once or twice before he managed to stand-and even then he leaned heavily on the soldiers.  
  
The only movement he could sense on the boat was a slight bobbing from the waves. They must have arrived in Greece.  
  
_I will be strong, I have to be_. Paris told himself. _For Briseis. I will not shame my country again. I must not falter before Agamemnon.  
_  
And then he focused on regaining control of his body as the soldiers dragged him along. Paris did not wonder if Agamemnon was going to kill him. He was not afraid to die, not now, not after all that had happened. But he was not prepared to lose his cousin. It was his responsibility to do all in his power to keep her from harm.  
  
After a while he could walk with the soldiers as they held him firmly. He could not see or hear Briseis from where he marched. He did, however, catch another glimpse of Achilles. He was a big, brutish looking man in terms of his size and disposition, but his face was not as displeasing as Paris had envisioned it. His eyes were very blue...  
  
He threw a glance Paris' way but did not catch him staring. Paris despised him in every way fathomable, for he was his brother's opposite. Where Hector stood for honor and sacrifice, Achilles was only for fame and selfish glory.  
  
But he despises Agamemnon. Paris thought. I could use that knowledge to my advantage.  
  
He looked back again, to find that Achilles was looking at him. Paris let him see through his eyes how he felt. It wasn't his intention to anger this hulking leader of the Myrmidons, but perhaps to upset him. Achilles, instead, looked amused. He made his way over and walked in step with Paris and his soldiers.  
  
"Why such contempt for me, Prince of Troy?"  
  
"Why such an idiotic question, Achilles?"  
  
It was true. Achilles knew well why Paris, and indeed, all Trojans despised him. He had deprived them of a Prince they adored. One that they wanted to become king, one that protected them, loved their Country.  
  
But Paris had already decided he would let no one speak of how the young Trojan Prince trembled in fear of Achilles or Odysseus or Agamemnon. They could not do anything to him that was worse than what already had been.  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
"For a captive," Achilles remarked. "You are very liberal with the way you speak."  
  
"What do you expect? For me to flatter you with compliments? To let you know I will tell everyone they should praise your name, tell their children and grandchildren how great a warrior the invincible Achilles was? Not likely." Paris spat. "You are a fool to think a brutal and prolific murderer such as yourself would be looked upon in future generations with anything but contempt."  
  
It was a blow Paris was expecting as he said it.  
  
_So let him do it_. Paris thought. _I'd best be getting used to being beaten_.  
  
But none came. Achilles gave him a look he could not read and spoke. "You had better learn some manners, and quickly, before you are put before Agamemnon-for your sake."  
  
But before Paris could respond Achilles was gone.  
  
"Good advice." Remarked one of the soldiers holding him. "You aren't a Trojan Prince anymore. You are a Greek slave."  
  
"I may not be a prince anymore, I may even be a slave-but I will never be a Greek." He said defiantly, and the soldier rammed his elbow into Paris gut as hard as he could as they continued their trek towards Agamemnon's Palace.  
  
When Paris and his guards reached the palace they did not stop to rest despite the long distance they had walked. Paris was marched up to the doors leading to Agamemnon's throne room. Upon arriving there, he was bound tightly in heavy chains. Shackles around his ankles, chains wrapped round his wrists, and a thick metal collar about his neck with a chain-link lead as a means of dragging him.  
  
The weight of the chains made even his breathing labored, and he thought what a sorry sight he must be, but he managed to stand straight as the soldiers opened the doors and led him in.  
  
"Bring him to me." He heard Agamemnon say, and the soldiers obeyed. He stared coldly at Agamemnon as he approached, and the Greek King smiled at him smugly. He was holding onto something. Paris' gaze dropped to his arm and down to the floor beside his throne.  
  
There was Briseis, obviously biting back tears as he touched her with his filthy, greedy fingers.  
  
"Get your hands off of her!" Paris demanded. "You have no right to even look at her!" Agamemnon gave a guard at Paris side a lazy gesture and Paris was knocked down with a heavy blow. He got back up as fast as he had fallen, determined not to groan aloud. "Do what you will with me, but let Briseis be. She is blameless, she has done nothing to deserve-"  
  
"Hasn't she?" demanded Agamemnon. "Oh, I think that she has, the little whore."  
  
"Briseis is anything but a whore. Before you and your army attacked she was in the temple of Apollo, learning to become a priestess." Paris said heatedly.  
  
"It doesn't matter to me what she was doing before I captured her. She will serve me now in my bed when I see fit, and the rest of the time she can toil at cleaning my palace along with you for all I care, or perhaps my soldiers would enjoy her-"  
  
"Please," Paris said, softening his tone. "I will do anything you ask of me, but do not force Briseis into something so vile. She took a vow of celibacy before the Gods, in order to enter Apollo's service. To force her to break this vow would be beyond cruel. It would invoke the wrath of the Gods upon you both."  
  
But Agamemnon began to laugh, and it made Paris feel weak and sick. It made him think of his fight with Menelaus. Agamemnon had been quite amused as he had cried out in pain as he fell, unable to even stand up on his own. He had crawled to where his brother stood watching in dismay and cowered at his feet like a helpless puppy gripping onto his leg with his hand, his cheek resting against it, begging silently to be protected.  
  
But it wasn't a good idea to dwell on that now. Paris had to put it behind him as best he could for the time being or he would never be able to muster up the courage to protect Briseis as selflessly as his older brother and father had protected him.  
  
"Obviously you haven't been talking to your slut of a cousin." He sneered when he was through laughing. "That vow was broken long ago. While we were still in Troy, the day after we arrived, I do believe-"  
  
"You bastard!" Paris said, anger anything but curbed.  
  
"You are confused, slave." Said Agamemnon. "Why don't you set him straight, girl? Tell him what really happened." But Briseis could not speak for crying.  
  
"Tell me what you are speaking of. Is her vow broken or is it not?" Paris asked, almost urgently. Agamemnon laughed some more. Apparently, something about the situation tickled him.  
  
"This winsome little harlot." Agamemnon began. "Seduced the all-powerful Achilles. And he didn't rape her, of that I am certain, for he had taken a liking to her before he bedded her. Refused to fight on the first day because I took her away from him. He missed a spectacle, didn't he Prince Paris?"  
  
Paris looked to the weeping Briseis, then at the amused Agamemnon, his brows knit with confusion.  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
"Why don't you wait and see? Achilles will be coming in here soon enough to see what's happened to the girl. The two of them are in love. She would run to his arms if I let her, wouldn't you girl?" he laughed yet again. "The bitch convinced him to stop fighting. He and his myrmidons were set to sail home. Lucky for all of us your idiot brother killed Achilles' young cousin- " At this point Paris writhed free, strengthened by his fury at what Agamemnon had said, but the soldiers regained their grip before he could get to the throne.  
  
Paris, still convinced Agamemnon was lying, said nothing.  
  
"Now then, my decision about you. I could kill you now, but there's been so much killing of Trojans lately that I'm sure everyone is quite bored with it. So I have decided that it would be much more amusing for you to remain here in Mycenae. Two Trojan slaves in the palace of mighty king Agamemnon, symbols of a once mighty empire fallen to its feet begging for mercy. You know plenty about that, don't you Prince of Troy? You can keep my floors clean, scrub all day on your hands and knees. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"  
  
Paris knew he was trying to get under his skin with his constant references to his cowardice. But he would not let Agamemnon get the better of him. He just had to figure out how to keep him from Briseis-but how? He was a prisoner and a slave. He had nothing to bargain with, no power whatsoever. There was nothing he could do...  
  
"Why so melancholy? You should be honored to serve me. And besides, we are going to have a grand feast-to celebrate the defeat of your family and the burning of your city. I am a merciful master, I will let you come, and attend me while I enjoy the festivities."  
  
Paris, always having been the sheltered one since he was the youngest, had never experienced such a driving need to kill anyone, but If only he was not bound!  
  
There was a bang as the doors to the throne room were knocked open, and Achilles strode in. he walked straight up to the throne, not kneeling or even lowering his eyes.  
  
"Keep your hands off of her." He demanded. "You said you would not harm her, and you also said that once we got to Greece you would-"  
  
"After, Achilles, after the feast. There will be plenty of time for us to negotiate."  
  
"I will not negotiate with you. She is mine."  
  
Paris looked at Briseis, at her expression, her mannerisms. Her countenance had changed greatly since Achilles had walked in. That look in her eyes was not mistakable.  
  
"Briseis," he breathed. She looked at him. "You didn't! Tell me you didn't!"


	3. Chapter Two

THANK YOUS:

Freelancer88: I will!

Destiny Lot: Thanks! I will!

adora-chillwind: Thank you!

Legolas19: Hope you like this!

sugaricing LOVE your penname! 3 chapters now!!!

LegolasGreenleafGil-Estel Yeah, I knew I was doing a fic LONG befre this came out. Your flatter moves me to write more!!

Kit Cloudkicker: Thanks...but I don't really know if that'll happen. It'd be dificult, don't you think?

RK9:2 words:Thank you! 1 word: I did...errr...nevermind. Enjoy!

Samwise The Strong: Yeah...dear little Paris is in denial about it. Celebacy IS overrated! Thanks for reviewing!

Carribbeangoddess:I wn't leave it off in 2 chapters! Here's proof!

Victoria Wolf: Yup.

Yana5: He ran away? You mean from Menelaus? More like crawled away eveil grin I STILL LOVE YOU PARIS!!!

Sparrow Greenleaf: Don't Panic1 Enjoy this one, Its a bit longer.

Marblez: THANK YOU! yes, Briseis will be ou of the way soon enough MUWAHAHAHA!! yeah, I'm a bit evil, but it makes the story much more fun

Paris: Perhaps for you!

Me: Yeah, you're right heehee!

kosumi: I LOVE your penname and your review was SO flattering. you used the word 'beautiful' you ROCK this chapters for you!

x-shadowcat: Shadowcat is definately a cool name. Don't worry, you don't have to sit in the chair much longer!!!

bradleigh: YEAH! I MADE A FAVORITES LIST! Im so glad you enjoy my humble little fanfic.!

c : I'm glad.

rs714211: Longer stories ARE more fun! I hope I don't rush this one, its a blast to write!

Emily : Thank you, I shall!

Carrot : YOU MUST SEE TROY! no..not really all that Iliad based. More ike...they took the general plot and ran with the motivations of the characters. I'd have to say they got Menelaus and Agamemnon all right, and Paris too. Achilles...I'll leave it alone until you see for yourself. Hugs back Thanks for the reiew! Paris doesn't snivel so much anymore...although perhaps he will soon...

Nat: I am sorry...truly, truly sorry. Perhaps you can copy and paste the story onto microsoft word, then go to EDIT then REPLACE and replace Paris with Briseis. That might work...well, not really when the sex starts. But I really do understand you. Briseis character was awesome in the movie!

Chikidee: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!! I HAVE no good words LOL!

litakino22 Is flattered wow, you used awesome so many times, way to boost an author's ego!

anonymous: I hope this suits you need! Thanks for reviewing!

ahou : This IS going to be fun...

Goldie:I shall! Thank you very much!

parislover : I did! I love Paris too...

anon: Dude, you read my mind! So Im sure you'll LOVE this chapter! (I HOPE you will at least!)

mi-au: Mi-au! Like a cat!?! That's brilliant!

Lanfear1: Achilles/Paris is nice, I agree. They are the perfect contrast to each other, n'est pas? Achilles is blond and very tall and rock solid and Paris is dark and beautiful and so boyish! Forgive my crazed comparisons, on with the story!

kate: I wrote 2 more!!! enjoy!

JEZ838: sorry about that typo, I really am. I try to proofread but something ALWAYS slips by me. Maybe it's my glasses?

Last, but not least:

Dreamer: Youre the BEST! needless to say, I'd NEVER post this if you didn't think it was any good. I do hope this chapter satiates your need for slash, O Great One! Grovels HAVE YOU SEEN TROY YET??? YOU MUST! yeah, I am a busy person especially since my DAMNED COMPUTER CRASHED! But I _**will**_ be delivering the goods asap, if you know what I mean ;-)

_Chapter Two_

Agamemnon was laughing again.  
  
"Your naivete is most mamusing, slave. But I grow weary of your presence." he motioned to the guards. "See to it that he is branded and brought back in time to serve me at the head table during the feast." Paris was not moved-he had expected as much, but Briseis began to sob  
  
"Achilles Please!" she was crying. "Do something!" But as far as Paris saw, he did not.  
  
He thought about what had transpired as he was dragged away. There was no way Briseis could love the collossal killer-who could love a-a-thing like that? The look in her eyes had been that of a lover, but it must be that her beauty had ensnared Achilles and she was taking advantage of his lust.  
  
Yes, that must be it. Briseis had always been clever.  
  
And Paris let his mind take over, filling with memories of how he and Hector and Briseis all played toghether when they were very young. There had not seemed such a differnce in age when they were all innocent, toddling children.  
  
But Hector would become king, and was very excited about learning to fight, to be an honorable warrior...  
  
_"It's going to be such fun, Paris! I am going to have a proper sword and a horse. Not a pony, a war horse!" Hector exclaimed. Paris eyes lit up.  
"Really? Oh, its all so exciting!"  
"I know! I will be the best warrior there is in all of Troy, Father says I have potential. I will have to get up very early, and learn to put armor on. then there will be riding lessons until noon, and then I'll get to fight. Father says I will have my very own sword, and that he will have it made especially for me. Soon, I will be strong enough to throw a spear, and after that..." Paris listened patiently and in awe at what Hector was saying. But then something dawned on him. He was using 'I' and not 'we'  
"What about me, big brother?" he asked "May I come too? And may I have a war horse, and my very own sword so that we may fight all the enemies of Troy toghether?"  
"Of course not, silly, you're too little." Hector said.  
Too little? Paris did not understand. No one had ever said this to him before.  
"But big brother." he said. "If you are learning to become a warrior, then what will I do?"  
There was a pause.  
"I don't know. Why don't you ask Father?"  
"But won't you play with me anymore?" Paris asked despairingly.Hector did not want to answer.  
"You can play with Briseis."  
"But Briseis is a girl andI want to play with **you**."  
"I'm sorry, little brother. But I'll be busy. You understand, don't you?" Paris sighed sadly, but nodded. He didn't understand why he couldn't come along, even if only to watch...  
And so the next day Hector spent his time in the training fields.He tried to sneak off and join him, but was caught by his nrsemaid.  
"Oh, no no no, little Prince Paris! Much too dangerous for such a small one. You just come along with me..."and she picked him up and carried him to a room where several women were sewing.  
"Let me out!" Paris had wailed, "I want to be with Hector! Take me to where Hector is, I don't want to-"  
"Now, now, little Paris." A girl, perhaps Hector's age, took him and pulled him into her lap. Paris tried to wriggle away, but was firmly held.  
"Lemmee go!" he cried, and tears formed in his eyes. He didn't want to be near these girls. He wanted to do whatever his big brother was doing...  
The girl hugged him and pet his hair and his cheeks, his head resting on her chest. She made soothing noises until Paris stopped his soft sobbing.  
"Later, my adorable little prince, you can be with your brother later."  
"All right..." Paris gave up. These girls were very persuasive, and comfortable...  
And so from then on Paris spent his days with the much older girls in the Palace. He discovered it was easy to win them over. He would do something childish, and their voices would become high-pitch and they would all squeal with pleasure. In turn, they would give them whatever he wanted- sweets mostly. As he got older, the girls started to make sport of chasing him. They would run after him relentlessly until he found a door that he could bolt or a room with other people in it and they would let him be. One girl, a close friend of Briseis, was unusually persistent. Paris finally decided that he was done running away and let himself be captured.  
What could they do anyway? They were just girls.  
But when he allowed Briseis' friend to catch him in the garden she'd taken him by surprise. She kissed him! On his lips! Paris was confused, he'd seen some grown ups doing it a few times, but surely he wasn't allowed to as well.  
Was he?  
And after a few months Paris decided that the answer was yes..._  
  
Paris' thoughts could only free him from facing what was happening for so long. When he broke out of him reverie, he was somewhere near Agamemnon's stables-he could hear the horses. His guards had seated him on a little stool and were holding him as a blacksmith was heating smething in the fire.  
  
A brand.  
  
Paris tried to calm himself, knowing that the more tense his body was the more pain he would feel. The soldiers tightened their grips on him, and the blacksmith placed the white-hot brand on his upper arm. He screamed, of course, overcome by the intense pain. It was like no pain he had ever felt, hot and stinging and aching profusely all at once.  
  
He squirmed and tried to free himself but was too weak from the pain to hinder the soldiers even a little. He writhed as the blacksmith held the brand on him, trying desperately to break the contact between his skin and the burning metal, but all was in vain. After a while the blacksmith was satisfied and the soldiers released him. Paris collapsed, biting back tears successfully, and thanked Apollo for that small mercy.  
  
After a while, one of the soldiers tied a wet cloth over Paris' wounded arm. It stung for a moment at first, but the cool water soothed the burn. They picked him up and the blacksmith began to wrap Paris in chains. Shackles on his wrists and ankles and an iron collar around his throat. The chains were heavy, and so Paris was once again forced to lean on the guards. He found he was much more apprehensive about the banquet than he had been about the branding...

* * *

Agamemnon had insisted that he wear the chains, and that made it difficult for Paris to move about the hall while carrying trays of food, serving Agamemnon and his guests. Wherever Briseis was, she was nowhere near the festivities. Paris tried not to let his mind create horrible imaginings of where she might be.  
  
"More wine, slave!" Agamemnon cried out in a merry voice. Paris knew he was talking to him. He made a piont of making Paris work as much as possible. He'd barely let any of the servants help serve at his head table all night.  
  
As Paris approached with the pitcher, he found he was being watched by Agamemnon's wife, Clytemnestra.  
  
Paris felt a deep pity for this woman. He couldn't live if he were in her place-married to Agamemnon who had no respect for women, Agamemnon who was a greedy brute, Agamemnon who openly persued other females more often than he expressed any desire to even be associated with his wife.  
  
Her eyes followed him as he poured Agamemnon's wine, and then demanded some as well. They followed him as he took some of the food trays away, his steps labored and awkward under the cumulative weight of the chains and the platters. Paris hoped for her sake that she would quit her staring, but Agamemnon was looking at him as well...  
  
Fear must have crept into his eyes as he glanced Agamemnon's way, for Achilles caught his arm with a satisfied smirk as he bent down to take his food away.  
  
"Much better," he muttered. Paris bit his lips and dropped his eyes. Achilles, not Agamemnon, was noe the one person Paris could not afford to anger. Agamemnon would give Brises up to appease him, for the war had no doubt taught him Achilles would not bow to him, and Briseis would be at his mercy. Paris could not-would not make that arrangement any more dangerous than it already was by being flippant. Keeping his eyes lowered, he spoke.  
  
"Is there some service I may perform for you, my Lord?" he asked quietly. Achilles seemed pleasantly surprised by this question.  
  
"Why so humble now, young Prince? Dare I ask what Agamemnon did to you?"  
  
"I-I must speak with you, my Lord-alone." Paris did not want to do it, but he had to. Achilles pondered this for a moment, and Paris wished he would hurry up. People were beginning to notice.  
  
"Slip away a few moments after I leave. Agamemnon will no doubt be too drunk to notice. But you may want to be sure his goblet is always full, just to make sure. I will wait by the fountain in the garden."  
  
Paris nodded, thankful that the warrior had decided to humor him. He went on removing platters and serving wine-most generously, but not too enthusiastically as not to draw attention-for as the greeks had room in their bellies to hold it. He noticed that the more intoxicated they became the more lewdly they stared at him and some of the extremely buxom serving girls who were helping him. He tried to ignore it but it was impossible, especially with Agamemnon. His wife had retired along with any of the moral scruples he may have had when the heavy drinking began. He and most of the other Kings were pointing, making comments-undressing Paris with their minds. Paris knew the look, and he'd worn it enough times on his own face, but this was beginning to make him uneasy.  
  
He looked around for Achilles, who had not yet left and was staring into space, pensive. He was no doubt confused over Paris' request, and was not paying enough attention to what was going on to be of any assistance.  
  
But...why was Paris looking to Achilles for help?  
  
_Merely because there is no one else_. Paris told himself. He froze; Agamemnon was calling him again. Steeling himself, he approached.  
  
"My Lord?"  
  
"You are still wearing that Trojan garb. Why?" he demanded.  
  
"With permission, my Lord, I was not given anything else to waer, so I assumed that you would want me to wear what clothing I had."  
  
"Well, slave." Agamemnon said condescendingly. "The next time you are not given clothes and all you have is your Trojan rags, you can assume I want you to be naked.  
  
There were snickers. Paris felt the air knocked out of him as if he had fallen.  
  
_Not this. Anything but this._  
  
"As a matter of fact, why don't we just get rid of them right now so there won't be any discrepancies later." And the men who could hear all laughed.  
  
_No_! Paris thought._Apollo, I beseech you, have mercy!_  
  
But the Sun God did not hear his silent prayer. Agamemnon called two of his guards, and they seemed all too happy to do as they were bid. Everyone in the hall who had not yet passed out was watching, and Paris could not control his erratic breath. It was really just a blue robe, and Paris wished he had still had on his armor so that stripping him would have required some effort. But the guard on the left gave it one good yank, almost toppling Paris over, and it was off.  
  
The round of satisfied laughter seemed to drown all other noise. Paris was trembling with humiliation and the sudden shock of cold, and he was sure he was red as well. Not knowing what to do, he stood still where he was, head bowed, hoping it was enough for Agamemnon the pig.  
  
It was not.  
  
Agamemnon reached out and pulled him harshly towards him. Not resisting, Paris was forcibly tugged into him, sparwed out in an awkward position on Agamemnon's lap. Feeling his girth and heat all to well against his silky skin, Paris shut his eyes tight and fought back regurgitation. The evil king was laughing, and the movement was bouncing Paris' naked body ever so slightly. Paris didn't dare think how he looked from behind to the countless people in the hall. Even the servants were free to witness and take pleasure in his shame.  
  
But at least, he thanked Apollo, Briseis was not present.  
  
Agamemnon, still laughing, took Paris' face in his hands and forced him to look at his amused face.  
  
"Where's big brother to save you now, hmm?" He asked mockingly. Paris bit his lip and trembled. He did not know if he could suffer Agamemnon's cruelty, he did not know if-  
  
His thoughts wer broken by someone's hand touching his backside. Startled, he jerked violently around and tripped, invoking more laughter. Still, from his place on the floor, he could see Agamemnon was becoming bored. He could not allow him to send him away, or else his patience with Achilles would have been for naught. Sickened by it though he was, he looked up at him winsomely, making himself look as vulnerable and innocent as he could, no difficult task, drawing Agamemnon into the depths of his chestnut brown eyes.  
  
Agamemnon was startled, but obviously pleased. He told Paris to get on with his work. True, Paris would have preferred to be sent off somewhere, he had to make sure he was able to slip away.  
  
By the time Agamemnon finally lost his conciousness to the wine, Paris was feverish, and weak with humiliation. He had endured a copiuous amount of rough slaps and pinches to his rear, and had borne it all with humble patience, but after so long he was becoming ill...  
  
At long last Achilles strode out to the garden, and Paris felt a wave of resentment at his waiting so damned long. But he bit it back. He could endure a little more for Briseis' sake. After a few minutes he slipped out of the hall after Achilles.

A/N: Just so you guys know, Agamemnon DID have a wife named Clytemnesta(In the Iliad, at least) and I didn't just make it up! Also; Keep on reviewing, ya'll are the best! I'll try and make sure the next one doesn't take so long... REVIEW!!!


	4. Chapter Three

The night air in Mycenae was ice itself on the young Trojan captive's bare skin. He shuddered and trembled violently as he walked through the garden, thinking no one could see him.

"Evenings in Troy are much warmer, aren't they?" someone asked. Paris spun quickly and was greeted by Achilles' imposing form.. Before he could think he had nodded. Achilles had been following close-extremely close-behind him. They were so near to each other now that Paris could feel the heat of his strong body. The warmth protruding from him was so inviting that he longed to lean into it.

A violent recollection of his present state sent a furious blush to his cheeks and his hands down to cover himself modestly. How long had he stood before Achilles naked? How long had he been watching from behind?

"You Trojans must like the cold-I don't know of any other princes walking outside at night naked." he said sharply.

_So the brute is amused!_ Paris thought.

"When I asked you to meet me here it was upon the assumption that I would be wearing clothes."

"Your assumptions do not seem to serve you very well." Achilles stated, reveling in Paris' shock. "Yes, I was listening to all of Agamemnon's idiocy. Though I don't know why-one sentence from that man is enough to make me want to send him to pay the boatman."

Paris didn't know how to respond, only that he shouldn't snap again.

"My lord, I asked you here because...because I am concerned for my cousin."

"You needn't be."

"But I am. And I ask-I beg of you to leave her the last small dignity she has. Let her stay a virgin, and let her go to the Temple here in Mycenae to serve. _Please_, my Lord." He got down on his knees and, taking Achilles' great hands in his own, kissed them both in supplication. Achilles thought at that moment that there was more of the wise, old Priam in Paris than people recognized. He was willing to do anything for his family-probably his people as well. Taking Helen-even though she had as much to do with it as he did- _had_ been a mistake, but Paris obviously knew that and was penitent. He would try to make amends in any small way that he could.

"I have nothing to offer, save for my own last shred of pride. If you like, I will perform a ballad about the mighty and unconquerable Achilles' defeat of the Ancient city of Troy...but my cousin...please do not take-"

"Are you hard of hearing, Trojan? Agamemnon told you it's too late for that. I took your cousin Briseis quite some time ago back when we were in Troy."

So it _was_ true. Paris shoulders drooped in despair. What now? Well, he couldn't just leave her to him now that she could no longer be a priestess.

"If what you say is true...if you've already raped her-you must promise not to hurt her again." Achilles seized him without warning.

"I am sick of your accusations, slave!"

"And I am sick of having to fear for my last family." Paris spat. "Because of you. You killed my Brother, destroyed my Father, raped my cousin-" Paris stopped as Achilles pinned him to a high stone column and knocked the breath out of him.

"I could snap your scrawny neck with one hand." he growled.

"Then do it." said Paris, facing him boldly and wrenching free of his grasp in an impossible swift movement. There was no fear in his voice, in his eyes. Achilles simply stared at the much smaller, much younger, much frailer boy. How could he be so audacious? "Why do you just look at me? Why do you not make good your threat? Here." he pulled down on the heavy chain about his throat. "I'll even move my collar to make it easier for you." Achilles did not move. "No?" Paris asked, his face has pouting prettily, and Achilles would have taken pleasure in his beauty if he had not realized he was being mocked.

"Impertinent Trojan whore!" he said. "You dare?"

"Obviously." Paris retorted. "You're surprised. My family would be too-but I am not afraid of dying any more. There is nothing left in this world for me except Briseis. Her life is more important to me than my own.."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't let your temper control you so!" Achilles warned heatedly. He took a breath and seemed much more clam, then spoke again. "And I never raped her-or meant her any harm."

"I do not believe you." Paris said flatly.

"What could you give me as a bargain price even if I _did_ intend to misuse her?" he demanded.

"Myself, of course. You could use me in her stead." At these words, a chill came over Achilles. He tried to control his thoughts.

"What makes you think I would be interested?" he demanded.

"Two things." said Paris calmly.

"Well?" Achilles prompted.

"I know what you and your cousin were up to before you came to Troy and captured my cousin."

_No. No. NO. He couldn't _Achilles thought. _That was a secret...I'd never told anyone._

"And how would you presume to know something like that?"

"I love women, Achilles, and women love gossip. Perhaps you're not the one to accuse _me_ of being a whore."

Achilles bit his lip a little bit. He had not wanted people to think of his cousin as they thought of many boys like him. He had wanted his cousin to have honor and respect, which was why he hadn't told anyone.

"And what of the other reason, O slave of Agamemnon?"

"Didn't you ever hear the story of how the war got started in the first place? It was your Parents' fault, initially."

"What nonsense are you talking, boy?"

"No nonsense at all, brute. Do you want me to tell you or not?" Paris asked. He seemed to think he had the upper hand, and Achilles didn't understand his smugness.

"Speak." Achilles commanded him, and he obeyed, with a respectful bow of his head...

_Back when I was a very young lad, not even ten years old, I liked to play on Mount Ida with the shepherd boys. I had to sneak off to do this, of course, but I was surprisingly stealthy, and never got caught._

_One morning I went to meet my friend, Aenaeus. He said that his father had given him half the entire flock to look after for the whole day, so he could not play with me. I pretended to be angry, but truly I was jealous. For a long while I sat and watched him sit and watch the flock. After a long while I stamped my foot and said if he had sheep to look after then so, too should I. I was a very spoiled little boy._

_After a lot of complaining, I managed to get him to let me have just one little lamb to tend to. I was thrilled, and promised to be the best shepherd. The little lamb was with her mother, and when I tried to pet her, the older sheep bit me. I was furious, and carried the little lamb away as punishment._

_I looked after her faithfully at first, but the excitement waned away and I began to daydream. Before I knew what had happened she was gone. Horrified, I went looking for her. After a while, I found her, stuck in a tiny cave in the rocks. I tried to reach in to grab her, but I stumbled and hit my head. When I woke from my unconciousness-which seemed to last but a few moments-I was met by three very beautiful women. I was very scared, because they were so tall, and seemed so much bigger than I was. They were shining like three brilliant suns. The all looked down at me, and they were smiling_

_"Please" I'd squeaked. "I've lost my lamb, have you ladies seen him?" And they all three laughed a little bit._

_"Do you know know who we are, little prince of Troy?" Asked the tallest one who stood in the center._

_"N-No." I said meekly._

_"I am Hera, the Goddess Mother." Said the first._

_"I am Athena, the Goddess of the Wise." Said the second._

_"And I," said the third "Am Aphrodite. Goddess of beauty, and of Love. We have a dilemma, little prince, and only you can help us solve it." And when she said this she smiled at me, and I was not afraid any more._

_"O-of course, Noble Goddesses, I would love to help...but maybe you had better go and find my brother, Hector. He is smarter than I am, and older and faster, and he has his very own sword." I suggested shyly. Partly because it was true and partly because I was afraid I would fail and be punished. They laughed again. "No," said Hera. "We have chosen you to be our judge."_

_Now I was very confused. How could a little boy judge a host of immortal Goddesses? Athena showed me a golden apple. It was very beautiful, it looked priceless. Etched onto its surface were the words "To the Fairest" I still did not understand. She put the apple into my tiny hands._

_"You must decide to whom the apple belongs." Athena told me._

_"But how shall I do that?" I asked._

_"Stupid mortal," she said, exasperated. "Which of us is the most fair?"_

_I looked up at them all, and the light coming from them was too much for my eyes. I knew I could not decide._

_"Choose me, little Prince of Troy," said Athena. "And I shall give you victory over all of your enemies.You can make Troy the most powerful city in the world-the universe! You could Conquer the Aegean with ease."_

_"Choose me," said Hera. "And you shall be the most powerfuml man in the world. More powerful than your Father or Brother will ever be."_

Well, these things may sound all very well, but even though I was spoiled because I was pampered, I was a very humble little boy. I had no desire to conquer anyone, not even for the sake of my beloved Troy. And, foolishly, I did not believe anything could make me Grander than my father, Priam and my Brother, Hector. Even if it could, I was content in my position, though it was a subservient one. I was never ambitious.

_"Give the apple to me, little Prince of Troy," Aphrodite said, kneeling down to meet my eyes. "And I shall give you something better than those put toghether, a gift I have never bestowed on any mortal before."_

"So let me guess," Achilles said sarcastically. "She promised you the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. I and my Myrmidons know the tale well."

"You and your band of brutes were misinformed!" Paris said impatiently. "Let me tell the story!" Achilles, amused, beckoned for him to continue.

_"If you give the apple to me, I will give you the power of love. Much like my son, Eros, you will be able to charm anyone into loving you. Your Father and brother would never ignore you again for as long as you lived. You could make yourself the center of their lives. You will grow up to be beautiful if you give the apple to me. No one will be able to resist your charm. You could make everyone love you, everyone, little Prince of Troy..."_

"I didn't know then that my talent would have limits. I could make my Father and brother adore me, love me as a father loves a son, despite his faults, or with brotherly affection. Or I could make even the stoniest of preistesses lust after me with such fervor that they could not deny themselves...but..."

"But?" Achilles asked.

"Never the two at the same time. I could make someone love me as a friend, as a person or make them desire my body...but I could never force anyone to love me...love me like Hector loved Andromache, Or as you love Briseis...I have never known that sort of love. True love. Only Aphrodite can bestow that upon someone, and even though I gave the apple to her, it seems for some reason she is loathe to grant me the one thing I wanted."

Achilles looked away from him for a moment. He couldn't bring himself to face the boy's tragic-torn face. For a moment there was silent.

"And so, you see, Lord Achilles." Paris started in a once-again confedent voice. "You are poerless to resist me. Perhaps since you are a demigod you can hold it off...but for how long? A day or two, perhaps, no more than that. Even if you thought to refuse my bargain and try and satisfy your lust be raping me it would not help. It must be consensual...a small mercy the Goddess bestowed upon me. Will you have me, my Lord?" And Paris looked at him, a tiny smile upon his face. As the innocent smirk grew, so did the hunger in Achilles' loins. He could feel himself rising uncontrolably and his hand shot out to grab the naked boy in front of him. He pulled Paris into his lap.

"Yes, I will have you, and you will be sorry you bewitched me. But..one more thing...you said it was my Parent's fault, how?"

"The apple was left at a wedding party by Eris, Goddess of Dischord and Chaos because she _knew_ Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite would each think it was meant for them. She did this because she was angry at not being invited to the wedding."

"I still do not-"

"Your PARENTS" wedding! The wedding of Thetis and Pelaus."

A/N:

PHEW! I'm SO sorry it took me soo long, everyone, but I AM going to finish the story, I promise. Thank you to all of my WONDERFUL reviewers, and if you keep on reviewing I will keep posting. SMUT in the next chapter, people, and its about time! REVIEW!


	5. Chapter Four

To "little Historian/ Iliad Reader" or whatever:

Look, sweetheart. I read the Iliad, and probably more variations on the tale than you have. I know Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon, and I know why. Because he supposedly sacrificed their Daughter Iphegenia to ensure good winds on the way to Troy. And just about everyone knows that Agamemnon took Cassandra as a concubine. But heres something that people like you DON'T seem to know. This website is called Fan FICTION because ummm…its Oh, I don't know… FICTITIOUS? Us FICTION writers basically take original works and change the plot and/or outcomes to make _different_ stories. How come you didn't complain about the fact that Paris and Achilles never had intercourse? Or the fact that they both died also? You know what? Here's some sound advice: This website is based on the idea of taking one play or story or film and making it another through creative endeavors... SO DON'T COME HERE LOOKING FOR ACCURACY! Duhhhhhhh…. the whole point is that everything is NOT accurate.

To the rest of the lovely reviewers: Enjoy the hot sex.

Yes, there is hot sex.

You have been warned.

**Chapter Four**

Achilles was far too aroused to even consider what his parents had done before he was born. He grabbed the lithe young prince and carried him away to a soft patch of grass and flowers in the garden. There he lay him down and spread his limbs out wide so that the heavy shackles would not disturb his ministrations. At first he thought to simply ream the boy, to be instantaneously releaved of his passion by the boy's tightness. But now that Achilles had the boy where he wanted him his hunger was no longer so critical. He wanted to take his time, savor Paris like a delectable feast.

He covered the young Prince's lips with his own, devouring him. His hands ran through the soft, dark tendrils of hair and over the smooth, warm cheeks. Achilles contined his wet kisses, moving down to the neck of the younger boy, who was all the while trying not to be afftected. Achilles' hot mouth ravaged Paris' throat, and the little prince bit back moans defiantly.

_You may have me, my Lord, you may claim my body as your own. But you shall not have the satisfaction of knowing that I enjoy it._ Paris thought. But the need to give in was becoming desparate. Achilles was far from a novice in the carnal pleasures of the flesh. Every touch, every stroke, every pinch was calculated.

"Are you trying to resist me, Princeling?"

"N-No." Paris gasped. "I have submitted h-h-have I not?"

"Not so much as you will. You think to lie like a sack of vegetables while I take you, and make it a rape, do you not?" Achilles didn't wait for an answer, which Paris would not have given anyway. "That isn't going to work. Give in to your body." But Paris remained silent and still. Achilles only grinned at him and gave a little chuckle, which made Paris shake with trepidation. Achilles stopped the assault he had been doing with his mouth and let his hands travel slowly down Paris' neck and upper chest until he reached his nipples. The contact in and of itself caused Paris to shudder violently.

"Ah. We are sensitive here, are we?' Achilles smirked. Paris turned away quickly. He could not bear to look at the blond warrior any more. Achilles began to massage Paris' nipples, pressing them back and forth underneath the hot palms of his hands. Paris moaned. It was all over now. Achilles removed his palms and began to work the lithe young prince's nipples with his calloused fingertips – first dancing around the nipples over the soft, dark flesh and then pinching the little nodules themselves until they stiffened. And Achilles couldn't have been happier with his little captive's response. Paris was moaning and whimpering loudly and tossing his glorious head back and forth helplessly as he writhed like a cat under Achilles' deft fingers. Achilles was a master, playing Paris like a fine instrument, drowning the gardens with the music of his mewls.

"Very sensitive." Achilles whispered huskily. Paris bit back a sob…but then had he really thought his weakness would not be discovered? But there was no time to think right now. Paris was being lifted by his captor, pulled towards Achilles so that his bare buttocks sat in his lap, right over his bulging erection.

_At least it is almost over now._ Paris thought.

But much to his dismay, Achilles did not simply core him, but continued his torture of Paris' nipples, pinching much harder now, mixing pain and pleasure as he slid himself into Paris' heavenly entrance. Achilles hissed at the sensation. Gods, but this boy _had_ to be a virgin. Tender and sweet, like the youths that had been sacrificed to the minotaur in the old tales his father had told him. But this young virgin was his…to be devoured in a different way.

Paris felt a quick, sharp pain as he was penetrated by the monster of a greek, but to his surprise it subsided. Achilles pumped into him slowly as he continued working Paris' nipples, grinding him between his rough thumbs and forefingers. He reached under Paris' taut belly and felt his organ. Although Paris was trying not to be aroused by his captor's ministrations, his manhood was stiffening.

_Good_ Achilles thought as he began to massage the boy's testicles until they became tight in their sacs and his erection grew. It was then Achilles began to pound into his captive's port. Releasing his nipples and grabbing hold of his slender hips, Achilles began to move Paris' body up and down-forcing his prisoner to grind his hips against his own powerful thrusts.

Paris moaned loudly as Achilles' formidable weapon reamed him, nudging his prostate insistantly until his body surrendered, with one final shudder, and Achilles felt him go limp with ecstasy, his member spilling its milky contents practically unbidden. Achilles, gruntuing as he pumped all the harder, came almost directly afterwards, and was too pacified with the sheer ecstasy to gloat about his victory. The carnal pleasures had never brought him such…joy, was it? Perhaps serenity was a better term?…before. Not before he had tasted of this little boy's velvety tightness. He wanted to lie down with Paris in his arms and hold him forever. Paris turned around slowly and looked at the blond warrior's face, noting the euphoric expression…a common side effect

"That'll wear off." He said emotionlessly as Achilles smiled down at him.

And it did, when the morning came…somewhat. Achilles woke up in a bed, presumably one of the guest chambers, feeling empty and a trifle upset. Where had Paris gone and why hadn't he said anything? And how did he end up here? It certainly wasn't where he'd fallen asleep.

Throwing back the covers, he jumped out of bed and pulled on his clothing and left the room immediately. He did not go to find Agamemnon, or even Briseis, though the two of them were at the back of his mind somewhere. He was going to find Paris, that little minx of a slave, and teach him a lesson about etiquette. You did not couple with someone and leave them alone the next morning without so much as a word. It was rude and thoughtless.

And yet…

Achilles was sure he had done it to many of…most of…the women and boys he had lain with. And he realized, as he walked the corridors of Mycenae's Palace, that it was only so wrong because it was being done to _him_. Now _he_ was the seduced one, left in an empty bed. But as Achlles turned a random corner and found his wayward bedmate, he could not hold his anger.

Paris had been given a dull brown slave's garb, along with a tighter, leather collar with cuffs about hs arists and ankles, and was drawing water from a well. Achilles watched as Paris pulled the bucket up, and bent over to retreive another bucket, already full. As he did so, the warrior admired the slender yet generously muscled and perfect clves and thighs that adorned the freshly captured slave. And despite the tunic, he could make out the well-rounded curves of Paris' buttocks as well. Achilles thought of Ganymede, who was also said to have been a Trojan, so beautiful that the Great Zeus himself spirited him away to Mount Olympus and made him his immortal cupbearer, so that he might ever gaze upon his lovely face as he enjoyed his wine.

If only this were that simple! The gods could do as they pleased with mortals, for what repercussions could they bring about? But Achilles did not know what he could do about Agamemnon. He couldn't just kill him, that was certain, and what else was he good for other than killing? He was not clever like Odysseus, and Odysseus himself was not here to lend advice. He had probably rushed home to Penelope. Achilles envied him, he had been blessed with simplistic love.

"Hey slut!" called a crude voice. Paris, who had started to walk back inside, kept his head bowed and ignored whoever was yelling. Two soldiers, young, robust and cruel looking, came into view and directly in Paris path. They would not let him go by.

"Aw, look at him. He's being a good slave, isn't he?" said one.

'The king's wasting him on fetching water if you ask me." Said the other, the one who'd called him a slut. Paris tried to walk between them

"Please let me-"

"Not so fast, slut." Said the more rude of the two, knocing him down and causing the water to spill. "We have some more…urgent work for you to attend to." His companion snickered. "Come with us."

"I really do not think that I should go anywhere with you. I have been instructed to fetch water. If I do not obey I'll get in trouble." His voice was calm although perhaps it should not have been. It was obvious what these two wanted.

"That wasn't a request, slave, it was an order." The solder snatched Paris up from the ground and slapped him viciously. At this point Achilles decided it was time for intervention. He stepped down to the well, and placed his hand over the shoulder of the noisier soldier.

"A-Achilles!" he stammered when he turned around to see who had touched him.

"Let go of him…unless you would like to quarrel with me."

The soldier dropped Paris immediately.

"Good. I'm glad you decided to cooperate.. Now, I'm not sure, but perhaps the two of you are supposed to be on guard somewhere?" The two of them left without any more prompting. Achilles scooped Paris up from the ground. He smiled faintly at the slave prince's lightness and warmth, and pulled him closer to his powerful chest, breathing in his youthful scent.

"Put me down before someone sees." Paris said emotionlessly. Achilles was stunned. No gratitude? Not one word of thanks for being delivered from two men that surely would have raped him? But he didn't care. Not really.

"Come back to bed."

"No! I have work attend, and King agamemnon to wait upon as soon as he wakes. You and I are finished!"

Finished? What did he mean by that?

"We certainly aren't Come, it's too early for you to be up carting water. And I can't sleep without you." Achilles did not mind showing a bt of tenderness for the sake of his wayward little prince.

"Yes you can! You did before and you will again now. Put me down!"

"What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing. You should leave, and take Briseis home with you. Agamemnon-"

"I don't want to hear about Agamemnon, especially not from you, Paris. And I am not leaving here without you."

"What? Achilles, you promised."

"yes, but did you really think I meant I would trade having your cousin for one night with you? That is hardly a fair trade."

"You cannot leave her here or my sacrifice will have been in vain. Agamemnon will violate her and when he is finished he'll throw her to his wolves." He motioned in the direction the soldiers had run off in. "Take her and be happy. She loves you."

"I will take you both."

"Agamemnon will hardly be willing to hand over both his war prizes, least of all to you."

"Didn't I tell you that I don't want to hear about him? He does not scare me, and I will have what I want, one way or another."

"let me GO!" Paris insisted, and started to wiggle his way out of Achilles' arms. Achilles, at last, lost his temper, and held Paris all the tighter.

"You and I will _never_ be finished!" he vowed. A slave woman appeared from the direction of the main hall, and called to paris, eying his position with distaste.

"The King has sent for you, young one. You should not tarry."

"I won't." aris said obediently, wriggling out of Achilles' arms once and for all, and pushing them away sharply. "where should I go?"

"He waits for you in his bedchamber." Said the slave woman softly.

Paris shut his brown eyes and shuddered visibly as he tried to steel himself for what was to come.

**If you don't leave lots of reviews I'll take an EVEN longer time updating than I did this time!**


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

As he made his way to King Agamemnon's chambers, Paris concentrated only on placing one foot in front of the other-as to focus on the steps and not the destination. It was the only way he could stop himself from trying to run away.

Agamemnon was waiting for him.

"So there you are, my little slave." He said with a disgusting smile on his face. "You ran away from me last night." Paris took a deep breath to calm his heart.

"This is not so, your Majesty." He said, keeping his head down. "You got drunk, and then passed out. Perhaps you just don't remember-"

"Oh I remember you, my little captive. The finest of my spoils on display last night. You won me many a compliment on that fine bronze skin and those plump little buttocks of yours. And now," he grabbed a fistful of Paris' glossy curls and dragged him over towards his oversized bed. "it is time for me to sample them myself."

Agamemnon threw Paris onto the bed and then began to disrobe. "Strip, boy." He commanded, and Paris did so. He knew that Aphrodite's blessing was a curse at this moment. It was true that if he were to be raped, his tormentor would never find satisfaction. But Agamemnon was no street thug or drunken palace guard in the mood for a quick, easy rut. He had all the time in the world and, if necessary, he would tear Paris in two to slake his lust. Paris would have to somehow arouse himself with the detestable ape buried inside of him. How he would do this, he did not know…

…but prayed the answer would come to him soon.

Paris felt Agamemnon climb atop the bed after him, but he did not immediately crush the prince under his weight. His big, meatey hands found their way to Paris' taut buttocks, which he kneaded roughly.

"Up on your knees, boy." He said. "I'm going to take you like the cowering little bitch that you are." Paris felt far too defeated to make a snide retort, and this was probably for the best. He got up on all fours as he'd been commanded and Agamemnon gave his backside a harsh slap. "I can tell already how much I am going to enjoy your stay in Greece."

The first thrust knocked Paris back over and prompted a scream from out of his lips. Agamemnon urged him back up and continued thrusting in and out of his slave's tight passage at a rough, quick pace. Paris fought against his body's natural reflex- to tense up in a futile effort to expel the painful, offending manhood, but did not come out entirely successful, and this only served in exciting the foul king even more. He grunted every time his engorged cock pumped into Paris' tight, velvety entrance to its hilt, his heavy balls slapping against the spread cheeks, and he buried his hands in Paris' thick hair. Even amidst all his pain, Paris could not help but wonder, though his partners were both men he detested and wished dead, how different things were now from last night.

Last night. Paris closed his eyes at the thought of it. He had known more women than he could remember, more than he _cared_ to remember. Pretty virgin temple maids, young and eager peasant girls, beautiful, sophisticated wives and seductive, experienced widows. Most had been delectable. Yet somehow in all his conquest he had never been loved so completely as he had been by Achilles. The mere rememberance of those large, warm, calloused hands on his nipples had him erect even with Agamemnon coring him, his grunts echoing in the large bedchamber.

Paris let his hand caress his dusky nipples, pretending that his soft, slender digits somehow were those of his lover, and as Agamamnon continued his ministrations, Paris allowed those fingers to slide down and attend to his member, now pulsing with need. Paris did not really realize, at the time, what it meant that he was stroking himself to the image of his beloved elder brother's murderer, he simply let the pleasure of the image wash over him and banish everything else, all the vileness of Agamemnon's presence. And as Agamamnon finally found his release in Paris tight, hot depths, ironically, so did the prince himself, murmuring Achilles' name as his seed wet the covers on his master's bed.

The end result, as with Achilles, had Agamemnon in a famously euphoric and charitable mood.

"Ah, you are a sweet little thing, aren't you? I shall never let you go. But you may work for my gardeners instead of cleaning. I want you to have enough energy to satisfy me whenever I have need of you."

Paris graced the seemingly amiable king with his most brilliant smile as he collected himself and stood. This Agamemnon altered by their coupling, though still evil at the core and lecherous, was tolerable. A life of enslavement to such a king was nothing a sane person would wish for by a longshot _but_ if Paris could have him charmed like he was now enough to keep himself from being seriously abused or mutilated, and if he could get that damned Achilles to take his cousin away from this place, then he could tolerate his existence until hewas able tomete out an appropriate revenge.

It was more than he'd hoped for as he'd been dragged to the palace in chains.

"You are magnanimous and just," Paris lied as he bowed deeply. "Thank you, your Majesty."

"My King." Agamemnon corrected him absent-mindedly. "Those that serve me say 'My King' When they address me."

"And so, too, shall I, If such is your desire." Paris said, adopting his most sweet and obliging tone. "But would it not be more fitting if I should call you 'master'?" Agamemnon thought about this.

"Yes." He said. "Let me hear if from your sweet lips now."

"Master," Paris whispered, stepping close to Agamemnon as if he told a secret to a lover. If Agamamnon had been a maid he would have swooned.

"Yes," he repeated. "That is what you shall call me." Paris bowed again and walked off to find the royal gardeners.

_I'll call you the Pharoah of Egypt, you pig, but never my King. My Father, Priam is my King, even in death, and will be forever._But this thought did him no good, because with it came a flood of memories. His Father-slain, and his brother too. His family-dead or so far away he would never see them again. His people-butchered, raped, and enslaved. His home-burned to the ground.

_My fault…all my fault!_

And so when he finally reached the unreasonably cheerful chief royal gardener, it was with tear stained cheeks and wet eyes.

"K-King Agamemnon says that I am to serve in the gardens now, when he does not need me." Paris sniffed. "Is there any work you would have me do?"

"Slow down there, little friend." Said the gardener kindly. "Let's have a proper introduction first, then perhaps we will find a remedy for those tears. _Then_ there'll be all the time in the world for teaching a new gardener how to make things grow, but not a moment too soon. Tell me your name."

"My name is Paris." He said.

"I am called Tenedos." Said the gardener, shaking Paris' hand "And I am very glad to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, I'm sure." Said Paris half-heartedly.

"Now then, why the tears? It is a beautiful day."

"It most certainly is not." Paris snapped ungraciously. "And it never will be again."

"Such despairing words from such a handsome looking young fellow!" Tenedos exclaimed. "But you've yet to tell me what's wrong."

"You work in the palace in Agamemnon's employ." Paris reasoned. "Surely you've heard about me from _someone."_

"Well, I couldn't be sure 'till I knew your name, but I'd thought you had the look of a certain Trojan prince when you arrived." Tenedos led Paris over to a bench in front of a fountain and gestured for him to sit. "I am still waiting for an answer, little friend."

"Waiting for an answer? Waiting for an answer! It should be obvious to you! And I grow weary of people calling me little!"

"That's unreasonable, your highness." Tenedos protested mildly. "You _are_ quite little." Paris groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Out with it," The kind gradener pried gently, and without knowing why, Paris told Tenedos everything that had happened, starting with the last time he'd been in Greece-as a guest, not a war prize, and about Helen and Hector and his father and his family. Tenedos listened intently, and was patient when Paris found he could not speak for crying.

"You must understand that it wasn't your fault." Tenedos said when he had finished. "What you and Helen did was irresponsible and rash, yes, and selfish, too, but your father forgave you, and so did your brother. You can't think that they are happy you were captured and enslaved."

Paris did not answer him.

"Come now, don't be silly!" Tenedos told him. "Because you're full of nonsense if you really do believe that, and your pretty little head is as empty as a drum. And furthermore, I won't have you sulking. Everything in my garden is here to bring a visitor joy and peace of mind. All my gardeners are cheerful, down to the very last weed-puller. I understand your pain and your sadness, but eventually you have to move on."

It was true, but Paris was in no mood for advice, nor to listen to anyone.

"Don't you understand? Everything I have ever loved is lost to me, except my cousin. And soon she will be gone as well."  
"Then you must find something else to love. You are a lover, Paris. If you don't have something to love, you'll waste away."

"I don't care."

"Of course you do, you're just throwing a tantrum that's all." Paris looked at Tenedos. He was not young, but it seemed to Paris that his hair was the only thing that gave him away. He had a few wrinkles, yes, but the way they were shaped on his face made them look like dimples. How was it that this gardener knew his soul when they'd only just met. And why did Paris trust him to begin with? He was a Greek! Maybe it was because he reminded Paris of his father, who, just like Tenedos, had been unconditionally kind and loving. Still, Paris did not like being judged. So what if he _was_ throwing a tantrum? He'd seen his family murdered, his city burned…if he wanted to have a tantrum-or a dozen tantrums, for that matter- than that was his perogative.

_Hector would not throw a tantrum._Paris' mind told him. He tried to stop it, because it was still too painful to think about his brother, but he could not control the train of thoughts once it had begun

_Hector would not be a baby, like you are. He would make everything all right again._

"I do not mean to be insensitive, my little friend." Said Tenedos. "For I, too, have suffered. I have also seen my people enslaved. This is not my land, I was brought here. Agamemnon and his soldiers took everything. My wife, my son, my home. I felt just as you do now when I first came here."

"Then how can you be so full of cheer? Have you forgotten your family and home? Have you forgotten what he did to you?"

"I have not forgotten." Tenedos amended. "But I have forgiven. Agamemnon is a cruel man, this is true. And to look around this palace one might think that it is unjust that the Gods would smile upon such an evil man. In truth, they have cursed him for his cruelty and arrogance."

"Really? How is that?"

"Agamemnon may have the finest palace in the world, but whom does he share it with? He has no sons. His advisers fear him, as do his soldiers. Half of the soldiers hate him as well because they were forced to swear fealty. His wife? She loathes the sight of him. She likes to have fresh flowers brought to her rooms every day and I often deliver them myself. She's got a crazed look in her eye, that woman. She's going to do something insane, mark my words."

"Why would she?" Paris asked.

"Didn't you know? Agamemnon sacrificed their daughter Iphegenia so that the winds would favor his fleet on the journey to Troy." Paris was speechless. "You see? A man like that can never truly prosper. His own cruelty will destroy him, just you wait and see. But me? I refused to let Agamemnon get to me. That would be my true loss. So I learned to love plants. Eventually, I was freed and given charge of the gardens here. I never married again, but the people who work with me are just like family.Tell me, who is happier? Agamemnon or me?" It did not make perfect sense to Paris, but he still agreed with Tenedos. "There now, you see? If I can be happy, so can you. I know you don't like being around the King, but my guess is that one way or another, you won't have to deal with that much longer. For now, let me see you smile." Paris did not say that he thought Tenedos' statement was ridiculous-he liked the man. And for that reason he gifted him with a half-hearted smile. There was no real pleasure in it, but Paris was so good at smiling at people (as this was an excellent means of getting what he wanted in his youth) he was sure Tenedos would not be able to tell.

"No, no, my prince, none of that. I want a _real_ smile. Smile at me like I am the wife of a merchant, bound to my husband, or a Temple maid, sworn to my virginity, and you are trying to get me to come to bed with you. That's the smile I want, and I will not settle for a lesser smile from you, prince, and if you give me one, I shall banish you from my gardens and have you send to slave in the kitchens- which you will _not_ find agreeable, by the way."

And then Paris laughed. It came as a surprise to him, as he had not intended for it to happen, but there was just something about the words Tenedos had said…the memories they had evoked and the tone in which they were delivered. Paris was ticked beyond being able to contain himself.

"Well my lord, I must admit that such a smile does not exist!" Paris said, giggling. "For it was never a problem getting the women to sleep with me. I _would_ have to smile, however, when we were caught, which, more often than not, we were, and I had to try and seduce the husband or the chief preist not to murder me!"

"And did this smile prove effective?" Tenedos asked, also laughing.

"Sometimes, but not always I fear. Most times my brother…." Paris couldn't finish what he'd started to say. "My brother…." He repeated to himself

_Oh, Hector, how can you ever forgive me?_

"I am sorry, little prince, I did not mean to make you upset by bringing up harsh memories."

"Don't apologize, Tenedos. It isn't your fault."

_It's mine._

"I am sorry nonetheless. Come, I will show you what you can do to help with the gardens, The work will not be taxing, but it will be tedius until I've the time to teach you how to do more complicated things." Tenedos sent Paris to weed the plot next to the one he'd been working on before, and Paris was thankful for the work. He concentrated very hard, and tried his best to work quickly and efficiently, and so kept his mind from wandering. He didn't know how long he worked. At some point there was some sort of disturbance coming from the insde of the palace, but Paris didn't even turn his head to look. Whatever it was, it did not concern him. Paris was almost finished when he heard Tenedos' voice, quiet and urgent.

"Come, little prince, we must get you to your warrior."

"What are you talking about? I haven't got any warriors." But Tenedos simply took Paris' hand and started to lead him out of the garden without explanation. As the pair turned a corner, they collided with Achilles and his company of Myrmidons. Paris and Tenedos were both knocked over, and Paris expected achilles to move along without any sort of apology, instead he stopped and looked down at Paris with a good-natured grin.

"There you are, slave. I have been looking for you."

"What for?" Paris demanded. Achilles ignored the question and took him by the arm, lifting him up.

"Come along, we are leaving now." He said, without letting Paris' arm go.

"What in the name of Hades are you talking about?"

"Didn't you hear all the fuss?" Achilles asked, bemused. Paris shook his head. "Some sort of coup, apparently. Agamemnon's wife and her lover plotted it, with the help of most of the servants, I imagine. She's just killed him, the bastard."

"Well I am just as glad of it as you are, I'm sure. I fail to see what the signifigance is, however."

"Clytemnestra's consort is the king now." Achilles said. "And has no want of a little Trojan slave boy for his bed." Paris choked on his breath.

"Y-You mean…." Achilles laughed.

"You are mine, now."


	7. Chapter Six

What transpired next happened all too quickly for Paris' comfort. Achilles laughed good naturedly at the situation as a whole: Agamemnon being killed, Clytemnestra gifting him with Paris as a token of thanks for his outward disdain for her former husband, Paris' reaction to the transfer of ownership. He was in a famous mood, and waved jovially to his men to truss up his prize and bring him along to their ship, which they did gladly, though not cruelly, as if they acted through their leader's good mood. Their contempt for the disinherited prince seemed momentarily gone, and laughed as contentedly as their commander as they tied Paris' arms together with thick rope and led him away. Paris looked back at Tenedos as he want, who was smiling and waving goodbye. Paris felt tears well up again. He'd only known the gentle gardener for a few hours, but he was his only friend in this harsh Greek world, and now he needed one more than ever. Tenedos must have caught his baleful expression, because he yelled after him cheerfully;

"Have heart, my little prince!" and Paris almost chuckled himself at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. He thought about Briseis as he was marched briskly down to the ships. Would Clytemnestra feel as though she should be punished because of her late husband's desire for her? There would be no way for him to even try to help her now- not that he'd even done a good job of it before, he thought contemptuously. Perhaps if he asked…

"Achilles!" he shouted at the warrior, who was far ahead of the band of the myrmidons escorting Paris "Achilles! Wait!"

"So Ho!" Exclaimed one of the soldiers "The pretty little Trojan longs for his master already!" Paris didn't make a retort, he only looked to Achilles, who stopped and turned around, bemused.

"What is it?" he called.

"What about my cousin, who is still inside?" Paris demanded.

"What about her?" Achilles pretended not to understand.

"You promised!" Paris became indignant. "You promised me last night that you would protect her! That was the _only_ reason that I-"

"Promised you?" Achilles guffawed back at him. "I have no obligation to keep a promise made to a prisoner of war." He paused "Especially one made in the heat of passion."

Catching his meaning, the entire company of Myrmidons burst into riotous laughter and jeering, and Paris' cheeks flushed hot with the humiliation of it as he bowed his head and let a few tears slip down his face. It was all too true. A promise made to a slave didn't have to be kept – something he'd known since his early teenage years when he'd promised a slave girl his age that he would marry her if she slept with him, a proposition she'd earlier refused on account of her still having been a virgin. After the deed was done, of course, he'd explained to her that he really couldn't marry her. She'd run off crying, and made enough noise for several people to see her leaving his chambers. By morning, everyone in the palace knew of her shame and she'd been so humiliated that she begged the King's permission to work on one of his many country estates.

Hector had been livid, Paris remembered it well

"You fornicating brat!" he'd fumed, when Paris was sent to him by Priam to be 'dealt with' (as, secretly, Priam could never bear to punish Paris in any way, with exception of the horse incident) "You ruined that poor girl's life!"

"Oh, please," He'd replied nonchalantly "She wasn't complaining when I-"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence. How could you, Paris? How could you make such a promise without any intention of keeping it, for such a shallow reason?"

At the time, Paris had wanted to point out that it wasn't _his_ fault that the beautiful girl had so persistently denied him, and that that had made him all the more desperate and determined to have her, because he didn't think it would go over very well with his big brother.

"Come on, Hector. It was really her own fault. I'm a prince; I never could have married her even if I'd wanted to. She should have been smart enough to-"

Hector had hit him then, not at all hard, but he'd never done it before. Paris was barely able to bite back tears.

"I…I don't even know that to do with you, Paris. You don't even understand why this is serious, why you should be sorry. I don't know if you ever will. I hope…I hope that you never truly fall in love with anyone. If you did, the gods would have a good time showing you a thing or two about pain."

Paris sighed. Hector had been right; the gods were indeed having a good time showing him what pain was. Now he knew how that poor girl had felt, the degradation of it. Of being so lowly that if someone superior wronged you in this fashion it was your fault for being ignorant. The shame was yours, not theirs. Trying to block out the jovial, lewd taunts of the soldiers, Paris did his best to comfort himself thinking of the girl. He could not remember her name, but she had been given permission to serve at an estate on the other side of Mount Ida. She probably fell in love with some kind farm boy, who saved up enough silver to buy her freedom and married her, and they'd had a lot of cute little children that looked after their sheep. They wouldn't have been in the city when the Greeks had come. They were still safe and happy in their little farm house. But Paris' mind was still plagued. How was it that Hector had been ale to protect an entire country of people, and he could not even protect Briseis?

By the time he was finished picturing the little story in his mind, he had already been led onto one of the Myrmidon vessels, and down below decks, where he was made to sit down on a little bench and have his feet shacked to the wall. He sat quietly as he was chained, although it was completely unnecessary. Where would he run off to, in the middle of the ocean? He smiled. Well…perhaps there was _one_ person that might be happy to receive him should he decide to take a swim. But the gods themselves didn't know what Oenone got herself into. Sometimes, when she and Paris had been lovers, she would disappear for days on end, and never tell anyone where she'd been.

Oenone had been the one lover that Hector had actually approved of, because she knew how to 'keep Paris in line'. It was true. Paris had been so smitten with Oenone that he had literally been willing to do _anything_ to make her happy. He certainly hadn't had time for any mischief whilst he was dancing to the sea nymph's tune. Paris realized that he hadn't thought of her in a long while, and that he missed her. Missed the simple life they could have had together.

Inevitably, his thoughts drifted back to his brother. All the things they had done together, all the things Hector had done for him. Paris had never known Hecuba, his mother, but Hector had made up for it as far as he was concerned. Hector had been the one to teach Paris how to walk, and rocked him to sleep as a baby. They played together and ate together and whenever Paris was afraid he slept in His big brother's bed. During Paris' infancy his big brother trusted almost no one else with him, save Priam and a few female relatives, and when Paris was held, it was usually by him. Paris' first words had been battered attempts at 'Hector' and 'Brother' although in the end he actually managed 'big' first. In retrospect, Paris saw that Hector had given him everything. Knowledge, nurturing, protection. Had there ever been even one occasion when Paris had helped _him_?

Ah yes. There was _that_ time…

_"I love Andromache, truly and honestly, but still…we have not been able to have a child together." Hector was miserable with it, and it was tearing Paris apart like nothing in the world had._

_"Do…you think that you are impotent? I am sorry for suggesting it, but there are potions they have that can-"_

_"I am not impotent, Paris."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Yes, I am positive." Paris wanted badly to question this- for the only way his big brother could be **absolutely** sure he was not impotent would be that he'd gotten some woman pregnant. But now was decidedly not the time._

_"But then…Andromache…do you think she could be barren? It seems unlikely. She is such a beautiful and healthy woman." Hector was silent for a long time, and then turned to face Paris._

_"Father has decreed that if Andromache is not with child by the end of this year…I must divorce her and wed again." Paris' mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged._

_"You can't…you can't be serious. Father would never do such a…he can't mean that…you…you **love** her! That…that's not right, Hector. You love her, that's not right!" Hector sighed. _

_"You are very young, baby brother. You do not understand the importance of my having an heir. But still…" he paused again, staring intently into his brother's eyes. "If there were a way for you to help me in this…would you?"_

_"Big brother!" Paris cried, eyes welling with tears. "How can you ask? You know I will always do anything I can for you!" sincerely touched with his little brother's adamance, Hector pulled Paris into his arms and embraced him tightly. "But then…you mean to say there is something that I can do? Tell me." Hector let him go and stood._

_"Come with me." Paris immediately obeyed, following Hector all the way to the temple of Demeter. They went below, where all the sacred rituals and rites were performed. They stopped in front of a large stone table outfitted with restraints. Hector took Paris' hands in his own. "This is the solution father and his advisors came up with. They seem to think that since she has denied us so far…the goddess wishes for one innocence in exchange for another. To obtain an innocent life, we much sacrifice another."_

_Paris couldn't believe what he was hearing._

_"You…you and father…" he began shakily. "You and father would kill me in order to get Andromache with child?"_

_"No! Never!" Hector shouted indignantly. "Paris, you misunderstand the nature of the sacrifice. It is not your life that must be taken, but your virginity." Paris face moved between confusion and embarrassment._

_"Hector, you know well that I am far from being a version even though…I am young enough that I should be."_

_"Ah, yes. You've slept with many women."_

_"Yes."_

_"More than you could count."_

_"I could count them…if I wanted to." Paris retorted._

_"But have you slept with a man before?" Paris thought about it._

_"No…I don't think so, now that you ask. I suppose I just haven't gotten around to it yet. Women are very distracting." Paris stopped, putting two and two together. "You mean…"_

_"You don't have to do it if you don't want to. But father said that if I agreed to perform this ritual, he would give me more time with Andromache, and I-"_

_"I've already told you that I'd do it. Don't you remember?"_

_"Of course. But then, you didn't know what it was that helping me would entail."_

_"It doesn't matter, Hector. I said I would do what I may to help you, and I shall." He said it stoutly, and he meant it, although he did inquire. "Who will be…presiding over the ceremony?"_

_"Well…I volunteered to perform the rites, actually, with the priests and priestesses here as witness. The only people they let stand in for an actual priest is the King or his heir. So if it isn't one of us, it would have to be the presiding elder. And well…I didn't think you'd want…" he trailed off awkwardly._

_"I don't, you're right, I'd rather it be you. And…thank you." Paris said. "When do we do this?"_

_"We can do it now. By the law of the temple you must be bathed and purified by the elders and the acolytes, but they won't be stepping in once that's through, except with prayers. Are you ready?"_

_"As ready, I suppose, as I will ever be." Paris smiled up at his brother to let him know that he was fine, and that he truly was glad of the chance to help him. Hector fetched the priests of the temple and all of a sudden there was a rush of solemn activity. Several acolytes, both male and female, all dressed in white, removed Paris' clothing and shoes, and let him off to be bathed. The temple bath was smaller than Paris had imagined it, but the acolytes had put lavender and chamomile into the water, and he felt wonderfully relaxed, even with innumerable hands touching all over his nakedness. The acolytes half-entered the water themselves, so that they could suspend the prince in the water and bathe him thoroughly. At some point Paris noticed that all of the elders were watching intently, making sure no errors were made, and blatantly approving of his body. Yet the humiliation he felt was half-hearted, even as the acolytes washed his private parts, and deliberately coaxed him to hardness under the hot water._

_The acolytes lifted him up out of the water and lay him down on a bed of cloths, then began to rub precious oils into his skin. The oil tingled and seemed to heighten his arousal, yet also calm him further as the bath had. They spared no part of him, the myriad of hands massaging his belly and chest, his upper thighs and nipples, his penis and his buttocks and even his anus, which had never been touched before. Paris felt as though he should cry out, but felt so calm and heavy that he gave a non-committed gasp, marveling at how erotic this ceremony was._

_The priests stepped forward then to examine his anus, and see if he was tight enough to truly be an innocent. Paris felt a little bit offended, and he could see Hector off to the side out of the corner of his eyes, fists clenched looking murderous. They had explained to him that it was a necessity, that the ramifications would be severe if the rite was performed with a non-virginal sacrifice, but he still felt as though his word should be more than enough. The presiding elder gave his approval, and the acolytes carried him back to the table and lay him down on it. He gasped again, because it was cold, but calmed when Hector came near._

_"Don't be afraid. I will not hurt you."_

_"I'm not afraid, Hector. I know you won't." Hector murmured his own silent prayer as he disrobed, and Paris tried very hard not to appreciate his brother's nakedness b too /b much. However, he was unsure as to whether he succeeded, because he'd never seen such splendor in the flesh. Hector looked like a marble statue of Apollo, except that every perfect muscle moved and flexed. He turned Paris over onto his belly, and Paris heart the priests mumbling something he couldn't discern. _

_This time, Paris did cry out as what could only be Hector's massive organ slipping into him gently as possible._

_"Shh…" Hector soothed, but did not cease his advances until he had buried himself to the hilt in Paris' virgin passage. "Are you ready for more?" he whispered._

_"Yes." Hector slipped his hand around and under Paris' belly to find his still-hard penis, and as he began to stroke it, he also started to pump in and out of Paris' tightness. Paris moaned as he felt something deep within him pushed at, and the feeling gave him immense pleasure of a sort he had not come across before._

_"Oh, Ohhh what is tha-" But Hector placed one hand over his mouth for a few seconds. Apparently there was no talking allowed. Paris didn't care as long as Hector kept stroking him and pounding that…whatever it was…inside him. The nature of their pairing absolved Paris of any guilt he **may** have felt for receiving such sexual pleasure at the hands of his brother, and though there was a sharp pain along with that pleasure, the latter was all he let his brother knew he felt. Was this how it was for a woman her first time?_

_The pace quickened, and Paris understood what Hector was feeling. He wondered if he could grip his brother as the wife of that visiting Egyptian dignitary had him. Though it hurt, he tensed up the muscles in his sphincter and delighted in the harsh groan he drew from Hector. Apparently, he could. A few more tries at that had Hector spilling into him as he himself came onto the stone table, and at once the acolytes tended to them both. Taking them away to separate chambers, praying over them, cleaning them off and sending them to sleep._

_When Paris woke up, he was in his room at the Palace, fully clothed in fresh garments. Had they drugged him back at the temple? He moved and realized that his nether regions were a bit sore. He wondered who had carried him all this way and dressed him until he turned around and saw something at his side._

_It was his horse. Not a real one of course, but a soft, miniature replica of Titan, the first Horse Hector had ever tamed and ridden. Paris had wept and wept when he'd discovered that Hector was going to learn to ride a horse without him. Hector had had the little stuffed toy made and presented it to his little brother as a gift until such a time has his then toddler limbs were strong enough for Hector to teach him to ride as well. Paris grabbed Little Titan and pulled him close._

_Exactly three weeks later, the castle was in song about the news that Princess Andromache was pregnant._

_At dinner one evening soon after, a mission to Sparta was proposed, as a gesture of Peace with their King, Menelaus, whom the Trojans had warred against many times. Many advisors and courtiers suggested Hector to be the one to go. Priam, always eager to stop useless bloodshed, agreed with the idea heartily and asked Hector if he would go. Hector, of course, acquiesced._

_"Maybe I could go along too, Father." Paris chimed in hopefully. "I have never been able to travel across the sea before." Priam frowned._

_"I am not sure I want you so far away from the safety of your home, Paris."_

_"It's Troy that will be unsafe if Hector is going to be leaving." He said with a smile. The court laughed good-naturedly at his open adoration._

_"Still, I don't know. It doesn't seem like a ...prudent idea." Paris didn't understand his father's refusal._

_"Why ever not? What could be the harm in my going along? I wouldn't be a bother, right Hector?" But Hector didn't even look at him. He looked to Priam, then away._

_"I'm rather in agreement with father. You do have a way of finding trouble."_

_"Zeus' breath!" Paris swore, feeling jilted. "What am I going to do, sink the ship?"_

_"We're more concerned with you sinking some Greek's wife!" came the voice of an unknown courtier, followed by a copious amount of laughter. Paris looked up to find Hector concealing laughter as well, and felt a sinking feeling himself._

_"I see," said Paris, standing. "Well, if that's your will, then stay I shall. Excuse me." Be bowed to his father, and to Hector, and left with an uncharacteristically stoic look on his face that shocked everyone. Paris complained when he didn't get his way. This behavior was erratic at best._

_"Paris, wait!" Hector called after him, and for the first time in his life, Paris did not go to him. He caught up, of course, and grabbed his arm. "Paris, come now, it's not so bad-"_

_"What's not so bad?" he snapped. "That everyone in Troy thinks all I'm good for is sex? I would have thought you at least would have defended me, and not laughed at whatever rude noble that was back at dinner. But then, given the nature of the only kind of aid you've b ever /b solicited me for, I suppose I ought not be surprised you're in agreement." Paris yanked his hand out of Hector's grip and returned to his room. He wanted to toss Little Titan into the hearth, but didn't have the heart to, so he settled on stuffing him roughly under the pillows._

_When Hector had given Paris what he thought was a suitable amount of time to steam, he came into his room to find him eating honey cakes sulkily. He sat on the bed beside him._

_"May I have one, baby brother?" he asked gently, with a smile._

_"You may not." Paris replied coldly. Hector tried not to laugh._

_"Oh Paris, please don't be angry with me. This is a very important mission. It's true we always manage to beat back the Spartans, or whatever Greeks come over here with unsavory ambitions, but we also always lose lives in the process. Good, Trojan soldiers who are my comrades and friends. Do you understand why becoming allies wherever we can is the best option?"_

_"Of course I do. I don't want our countrymen dying any more than you do. But I do want to see the world. I don't like being held up in the city walls like a prisoner. What harm could I do?"_

_"There is a vast amount of things you might do that could jeopardize this mission._

_"But…" Paris stopped. "Hector, I love you. You were everything to me as a child. I would be so lost without you. I would have thought that maybe…that maybe you would **want** me along. But I am also Father's servant- and yours. If you want me to stay, I shall do so, and not complain of it any more."_

_Hector seemed surprised at Paris' level of maturity. He patted Paris on the head. Reached his hand under the pillow and retrieved Little Titan as though he knew that he'd be there, and smacked Paris with it playfully, then left._

_He was impressed with Paris, and so was Priam when he told him what Paris had said. They'd both agreed that Paris might be mature enough to go along…_

But they had been wrong.

Paris had fallen asleep in his fetters, and that is how Achilles found him when he went below decks to tell Paris that Briseis had been given a position as the Queen's handmaiden, and would be safe and well-cared for. He watched Paris a bit, and saw a tear slide down his face.

Gods! The boy even wept in his sleep!

"Eudoras!" Achilles snapped at the man by his side. "Did you let the soldiers manhandle him, because I told you not to-"

"We did not, my lord, I assure you."

"Well then why is he still crying?" he demanded, feeling angry at the ungratefulness of it.

"My lord," Eudoras said reasonably. "The boy has had a hard time these past few weeks."

But this logic did not please Achilles. He had no use for a sullen slave boy. None whatsoever.

All of a sudden, Paris' eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Achilles, his master. Achilles stared back at him, looking as if his good mood were gone- but Paris had the remedy for that. He smiled up at him brightly and inclined his head politely as he could not kneel.

"Master," he acknowledged. Achilles' blue eyes widened in shock.

It was true that he would spend the rest of his existence in thrall to his brother's killer, and he dreaded it. Dreaded that he would never be free again. Dreaded that he would not be able to love whom he pleased, or even pair with whom he pleased. Dreaded that he could not wake up and walk by the sea when he couldn't sleep at night. Dreaded that he would never again feel secure or protected. Dreaded that he would probably, at times, be forced to warm the barbarian's bed. Dreaded that he didn't really dread _that_ part as much as he should.

But...this was suitable punishment, he thought as he smiled up at his master again, and he would bear it humbly.


	8. Chapter Seven

Achilles had been shocked, to say the least, when the weeping prince awoke and smiled up at him so beautifully.

Had he ever seen a smile such as this one?

However, the warrior recovered quickly and frowned again.

"So, you have given up your sniveling?" he snapped.

"If you mean crying, I will try to stop if it displeases you, master. Regrettably, I cannot promise you that I will never again succumb to my grief, since-"

"What's all this?" Achilles demanded, cutting him off.

"I…What do you mean, sir?"

"You know what I mean, boy. You were ready to spit fire at me a few hours ago, where has your spirit gone so quickly?"

"I apologize, master, for previously disrespecting you. But, if you will indulge this slave insofar as recalling, you were not my master at that time."

"Yes, yes, fair enough. But you didn't answer my question." Paris thought for a moment.

"My spirit, master, is inside of me, as it shall stay until such a time that I should die."

"I like not your new, evasive manner of speech, slave."

"I…I am sorry, master. This is how I was taught to speak respectfully, at court. I do not feel it would be appropriate to address you in a less formal fashion, given the nature of our relationship. But in response to what I now understand you meant by that last question, master, I…" he stopped.

"Yes?" Achilles prompted.

"I have resigned myself to my punishment." Achillles' brow furrowed in confusion at his confession.

"Punishment? I am not here to punish you."

"My master misunderstands me. I referred to the general punishment of my new station."

"Ah, I see. You feel that being my servant is a _punishment_." Paris nearly snorted at the jilted tone in Achilles' voice. How dare the brute be offended that he did not rejoice in his chains!

"I would humbly ask that my master _not_ pretend the situation is more benign than it is in actuality. A _servant_ would I gladly be, master, but a servant I am not. Servants are not forced to go or stay one place or another; they receive compensation for their work and cannot be abused, assaulted, raped or killed legally. They are not kidnapped or bought or sold, nor are they chained to the walls of a ship, for that matter."

"You complain of your treatment thus far?" Achilles asked evenly.

"I would never have the audacity to complain to my master. That is a privilege reserved for servants." Paris responded. Eudoras had been able to stifle his laughter up until this point. It didn't really matter if the young Trojan was actually being sarcastic or not, it was funny either way.

"I merely wanted to point out that while the life of a servant is tolerable, the life of a slave is not. It isn't supposed to be tolerable. It is supposed to be a misery, and that is why I likened it to punishment before, not as a slight to your dignity or honor, master." Achilles didn't know whether to believe the boy was being earnest or not. Logic suggested that such a thing wasn't possible, but he sounded so sincere that Achilles was willing to forget about logistics.

"Am I to understand," he asked. "That you have decided to submit yourself to me?" Paris nodded his head, his glossy curls bouncing endearingly.

"Yes, master, that is what I meant to say."

"And you aren't being sarcastic?"

"Not at all, master."

"So if I were to command you right this moment, you would…?"

"Obey you to the best of my ability without hesitation, master." Paris smiled at him again, but he only arched a brow skeptically in return. He stepped close to Paris, pacing while looking down on him.

"Why do I not believe you, little prince?"

"I certainly do not deem myself intelligent enough to understand the inner workings of your mind. If it is not your wish to believe me, then Icannot-"

"But you can. You can prove yourself." Achilles snapped at Eudoras, who handed him the key to Paris' shackles, which Achilles then loosed. "Up!" he commanded. Paris stood, realizing how closed they were, and bowed his head. He did not _intentionally_ give the warrior a tantalizing view of his rich, sable curls and further madden him with their sweet, sun-warmed scent by doing this, but it happened all the same.

"Now then, slave." Achilles used the word deliberately to goad him, and Paris knew it, but did not mind. It was truth. There was no sense in him being offended by the verbalization of it. Achilles tried to think of what would degrade the young captive most. "On your knees." He told him. Paris knelt.

"Lower." Achilles demanded. Paris lowered himself so his thighs were atop the backs of his legs.

"Lower." Achilles repeated. Paris bent his back so that his torso was parallel to the ground, placing his hands down before him.

"Lower!" Paris prostrated himself completely, his face against the rocking floor of the ship, his arms out in front of him, and clasped his hands together gracefully, in a manner that was sadly beautiful in its abjectness, and Achilles found himself stunned. They remained in their respective positions, master and slave, suspended in the moment until Achilles managed to snap himself out of his sudden stupor and issue another command. "Stand up again and give me your arms." Paris did so immediately, and Achilles untied him. But before he had even a moment to thank his master for the kind gesture, the warlord used the length of rope to make a short lead around his prisoner's neck. Paris held back a disappointed sigh. Apparently, his submission had not pleased. Achilles led him up on deck, and was surprised that his slave did not even so much as flinch as he was again met with the raucous jeering of the myrmidons.

"Where did you find that cute little Trojan puppy?"

"Hiding in the palace with his tail between his legs, no doubt!"

Paris wanted nothing more than to protest. To tell them that he had not hidden from Achilles, and to break free of his leash so he would not seem like a puppy to them. But, really, it did not matter in the least what they thought of him, only what his master thought. It was Achilles who held the power of life and death over him. Still, Paris blushed furiously despite hid best efforts to remain stoic. His master noted this and was, thankfully, pleased.

"He is a very cute little puppy, and so well-behaved." Achilles mused, petting the top of Paris' head. Still, Paris did not allow himself to be baited, even when Achilles led him about the ship, refusing to let go the leash as he went about his business on deck. Becoming annoyed after a time with having to hold the end of the lead, he simply tied it to the corded belt he had about his tunic, thus freeing his hands- but not his prisoner. It was hot and the sun was merciless. Achilles had undying energy, but after a while it was very difficult for Paris to keep up with his ministrations with the soldiers and sailors. To his misfortune, his master took no notice, and did not modify his behavior. Achilles helped his men with the ship's labors, with Paris trotting along meekly behind him, determined not to breathe a word of complaint, until nightfall. It was only until the ship was still upon the calm evening sea that the warrior noticed his captive- bent over with his hands on his knees and panting like the puppy he had been likened to.

Despite himself, Achilles felt sorry for the poor Trojan.

And guilty.

He removed the lead from his belt and gently untied the makeshift collar from around Paris' neck. The boy thanked him profusely and politely-in that maddeningly charming courtly speech of his- and awaited his will. The deck was now empty, save a few soldiers that had nodded off instead of going below for a mean and a drink, so Achilles sat down and pulled Paris close.

Had the boy ever looked as beauteous as he did now, bathed in the dying sunlight and the cacophony of hues it pained the sky? Achilles thought not. Perhaps no one ever had.

His head was bowed, but Achilles could see that he was looking off into the horizon in the direction of his ill-fated home.

"Tell me what you are thinking." Achilles commanded.

"I wonder why humiliating others is such an entertaining pastime for barbarians, and wonder if you have yet tired of it."

"You speak disrespectfully to your master,"

"I do not speak disrespectfully at all, master. It is out of respect for you that I speak. You asked me to share my thoughts. You may punish me for i thinking /i disrespectfully, but I only sought to obey your order. To do so, it was necessary that I tell the truth." Paris answered him evenly, and Achilles did not have a response.

"I have been hard on you today. Forgive me." Achilles offered.

"Master, it is not my place to forgive you for anything you have done to me." Paris responded.

"I know that!" the warrior snapped, causing Paris to flinch a little, as if expecting a blow. Achilles softened. "I…I am only trying to apologize to you, Paris. Eudoras was right. You have suffered much, and there is no honor in me tormenting you further." The slave made no effort to confirm or deny this. Instead he said

"What is your will, Master?"

Achilles looked at him again. His will? that would do him no good. What he wanted was the only think he could not force the boy to give him- his affection. Genuine affection, not slavish fawning. But that wasn't really a possibility- not when they were enemies. So he opted for the next best thing.

"I want you in my bed, slave."


	9. Chapter Eight

Paris' heart rate quickened. He had known, of course, that this was going to come, but he'd thought perhaps he'd be given more time.

_A foolish way to think. You are a slave now, you will be given nothing._ he chided himself. Paris looked up at Achilles briefly, and then lowered his eyes again. He had no choice in this matter. It was the most repugnant prospect in the world, but there was no way out of it, and so what use would there be in resisting?

"Can I take your lack of response as surprise at my request?"

"Not at all, master. I knew the moment you said that I was to belong to you what would be expected. What _other_ service could I perform? I would be of no use in any other circumstances." Paris said. Achilles noted that it was said sincerely, and realized for the first time that Paris did not have a very good opinion of himself, outside of what knowledge he had in the bedroom, and that this probably didn't stem only from how said talents had played a role in the war. Achilles' thoughts drifted to Hector, although it was something he tried not to think about at all, and surmised that it would be difficult indeed to live in the shadow of such a one as Hector had been. Achilles was half god, but he knew in his heart of hearts that if he hadn't been, the dual would have ended quite differently. Paris must have had it very hard, knowing he would never measure up to his big brother, probably being told. It was no wonder the boy had never become a fearful warrior. What point would there have been? Besides that, it was clear that this boy had been shielded and protected all his life, and most probably spoilt a great deal as well. Achilles and everyone else had been eager to berate and taunt him for being cowardly, but the poor boy had most likely never even come in contact with anyone who'd even mildly disliked him- much less despised him and wished to do him harm. It had probably been unbelievably terrifying. Achilles himself had obviously never experienced that kind of fear, but just contemplating it was harrowing indeed.

_What would _I_ do, if I were so young and sheltered, completely defenseless and staring death right in the face? What would anyone do?_ Achilles thought. He recalled once when he was very young he'd been out adventuring alone in search of a beehive for honey, something he was particularly fond of, and had stumbled upon a monstrous bear. He had turned and ran immediately back home. Really, how was what Paris had done any different? Facing insurmountable danger, Paris had run back to where he knew he'd be safe.

All right. Perhaps he was over sympathizing just a little. Obviously the fact that Paris had _challenged_ Menelaus was a differing circumstance… and the groveling had been a bit much. And then the fact that Achilles had been a child…

…but then, in his own way, Paris had still been but a child himself. Perhaps not now, but certainly back before the war had really gotten started.

"What were you thinking, boy, when you challenged Menelaus?" Achilles asked abruptly. His own musings had made him curious, and distracted him from what he'd been thinking of doing only moments before. The young slave did not answer immediately, obviously thrown off by the change in subject. To his masters' surprise, however, it didn't take long for him to collect himself.

"I don't really know, master. It certainly wasn't some delusional notion that I could actually defeat him. I had thought about it- about dying- the night before, actually, and well…it didn't seem _so_ bad. But then things are never the same as you imagine them. I suppose that…" he stopped short, seeming to wish to put his words together properly. Achilles noted that the boy was blushing furiously, and that his delicate hands were clasped together nervously. "When I was down there, on the battlefield, just before the duel, and the first half of it…I suppose that I was thinking that even though he could kill me, he wouldn't. Because even thought I know that in essence what I did was wrong, I never did, and still do not understand why he cared. He treated his wife contemptibly, and it was clear to me that he felt no desire or affection for her. I thought that maybe if we fought, and he saw that I loved her, and that my asking her to go with me was not a conquest, but an act of said love, that he'd realize that I'd meant him no disrespect and leave off. I know that it was stupid, that _I_ was stupid, but even when there was war around me, I was always taught as a child to believe in the decency of other people. It was foolishness, but I did believe it…for a time."

Paris was horrified by the question his master had asked, and even more horrified at the candidness of his own response.

_Why is he tormenting me? What have I done?_

"What then, do you think you might have done if you had beaten him, and none of this had ever happened?" Achilles asked. He didn't know why, but he absolutely ached to _know_ this boy.

Paris froze. It was too painful, too painful to think of such things! He bit his lip so hard it bled, and took several measured breaths.

"I don't think of things like that, sir. I am nothing but a slave now, and it's no more than I deserve." He replied. Achilles wanted to protest- he didn't think that anyone deserved to be a slave- but then he let it go, because he had absolutely no intention to set free his war prize. But he noticed the prince's bleeding lip and guarded answer and knew him at once to be false.

"Come now, you're not as humble as all that. And surely you must wonder-"

"What I wonder, master, is why you torture me with your insensitive questioning, summoning every bad memory I have, after I have done everything you've wanted without complaint!" Paris interrupted, his eyes wet with angry tears. "I thought you said you wanted to fuck me. What happened to that, hm?"

Strangely enough, it was Paris himself who was completely shocked with his response. Achilles was only amused, and he sat on the ship's rim smiling at Paris' face. His eyes were saucers, he had the look of a deer, and his hands covered his gaping mouth- it was an adorable expression, really. After a moment, Paris fell to his knees before his master.

"Forgive me, master, I misspoke, and disrespected you terribly with my tone. I request punishment if you would grace me with it."

"Punishment?" Achilles asked incredulously. "Why would you request that?"

"Because I need to know my place, sir. You, master, have a fondness for me because I pleased you in bed. But if I were sold into another's ownership they would hardly put up with such outbursts."

"Aye, that's true enough. But you needn't worry about anything like that. I'll never sell you." Paris didn't know whether to feel flattered or alarmed. "As to the punishment," he started. "I think you've already made it clear that just being with me is a punishment. But since you asked me so nicely, I think I can manage to mete something out for you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet, boy." Achilles said as he grabbed Paris' arms and pulled him up, only to throw him over the ledge where he'd been sitting. He lifted the slave's course brown garment and began to fondle him.

"Master! There are people up on deck, and the rest of your crew only steps away. Have a care!"

"It's none of their business what I do with my slave," he snapped. "And I'll not wait any longer for relief." He reached up Paris' tunic and, much to the boy's dismay and mortification, found his nipples.

"Please!" he rasped out instantaneously, but his cock was already hardening fast as Achilles' hands twisted and pulled at his chest.

"You like it when I tease those dusky little nipples of yours, you like it when I hurt them, even. Admit it, slave!" And he pinched them cruelly until Paris responded.

"Yes! Yes! Oh, Gods, please stop!"

"You love it, it makes you hard as a stone, I don't even have to touch your cock. But you hate how I can do this to you, how I can make you want it. It humiliates you but it still arouses you, slut that you are." The words truly stung- truth delivered harshly hurts like nothing else will, and Paris felt more tears coming.

_You are so weak._ But at the same time he was whimpering and moaning without censure, the hands maddening him.

"I'm going to stop touching those tits of yours now, and fuck you good and hard like you deserve. And then when I'm through with your hole, I'm going to squeeze those nipples again and then you're going to come, just from my hands on your tits, and you'll know who your master is, and you'll know not to displease him with your saucy little mouth, won't you, slave?" Paris choked out a sob in response, unable to do anything but take the pain of Achilles' massive length sliding into him, the passage uneased with oil.

"Answer me!"

"Yes, master-oh!" It hurt, but Paris was so aroused from the stimulation, and Achilles' fierce manhood was so long and thick that it nudged his prostate with every movement. Paris moaned in both pain and pleasure, completely undone by the cock that skewered him. He was even more debiliated to find himself bereft when Achilles pulled out abruptly and did not reseat himself within Paris' tight passage immediately. He groaned in complaint.

"Fussy now, are we?" His master chuckled at him. "Beg, slave. Beg for my cock and I'll give it to you again."

"Apollo have mercy, I want it! I need your cock inside of me now, master!" Paris said desperately, forgetting his humiliation. Achilles did not stir. "_Please_ master, I beg you, I beg-" suddenly the warrior thrust, sheathing himself inside his hot and bothered prisoner to the hilt. Paris responded to the invasion he'd begged for loudly.

"You squeal like a gutted pig, boy! No matter, though, you're tighter than my fist could ever be." The thrusting became more insistent, and Paris wasn't sure how long he could stop himself from coming. It took every ounce of will and strength he had to stave off his own orgasm as he felt the splash of hotness fill his insides. Paris had never before felt so claimed. The warrior's seed was searing and lingering within him, and his desire heightened with each passing second. Anticipating another demand for begging, Paris let go of the last shred of dignity he had been holding onto.

"Touch me," he pleaded his voice thick and raspy with need. "_Touch me._"

Laid over the railing as he was, Paris could not see how surprised Achilles was at his unbidden supplication. But he did feel his captor's hands on his abdomen, sliding up much too slowly, strong and hot. Achilles did not have time to twist and torment the overly sensitive nipples as he had planned, because as soon as the very tips of his fingers grazed them, the young Trojan shot out his release with a long and sighing cry, his head resting on Achilles' shoulder as a result of the slackening of every tense muscle in his lithe body. As the warrior pulled out of his prisoner's clenching portal, there came a raucous cheer from behind him. Both master and slave turned sharply, to see that nearly every one of the men had gathered, and had presumably been watching the copulation, and were now clapping and whistling as they yelled- vulgar congratulations at their commander, lewd and biting taunts at his slave.

Paris turned away quickly, squirming away from Achilles and curling himself up against the side of the ship. The demi-god did not have to look at the poor boy to know that he wept. He wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to tell him that he hadn't meant to be so cruel in their coupling- he'd only been spurred on by the boy's request for punishment- and that he certainly hadn't meant for anyone to see them. But his men still looked on, and he couldn't afford to show the boy any affection in their presence. He was only a slave, and therefore meant to take such punishment. So he got up and walked towards his myrmidons, graciously accepting their congratulations on such a thorough conquering and breaking in of his new pleasure slave while tactfully ignoring the few inquiries about whether or not they'd be able to 'try him out' as they led him below for more drinking

Hours passed. Paris dared not move an inch. He was too afraid some soldier would be watching.

Too afraid to see the triumphant face of Achilles smirking down on him. He'd had all he could bear, he could suffer no more. If he'd had his eyes open, he would have noticed that someone watched…

Eudoras regarded the boy with sadness and empathy. The way the poor captive grieved past the point of weeping, the way his shoulders slumped in defeat, it reminded him of his son. Eudoras didn't talk about his son very much, and neither did anyone else. The young man had been very promising, agile, strong, excellent with a sword. He provided Achilles better sport while sparring with him than Patroclus did at half his age. Eudoras had been looking forward to the day when his boy would march into battle with him.

That day never came. One evening as a storm was brewing, a group of slave children had been ordered to gather vegetables from a grove under a huge tree. By ill luck, a bolt of lightning hit the tree, and it began to fall. The children ran away immediately, but in their confusion they ran into each other, causing one poor child to fall over. Eudoras and his son were nearby, and the young man, having seen the commotion, ran at what seemed a godlike speed towards the falling tree. He made it in time to save the slave boy, but not himself. The great tree fell atop his lower legs. Eudoras had rushed over too him, mad with grief, striking the poor child his son had saved, scolding his son for wasting his legs on a worthless slave boy, who could have been easily replaced. Eudoras had forgotten at that moment that the mother of his son had been a slave herself- a beautiful and gentle woman who had taught the young man kindness and justice before her untimely death.

Father and son had not spoken for a very long time.

Still, Eudoras looked in on the boy, confined to his bed now, what with his shattered and useless legs. He knew the young man to be depressed and lonely. His shoulders ever slumped like this poor disinherited prince's were. But Eudoras did not have the words he knew he would need for a sufficient apology. The hardened soldier now wondered at this Trojan. How did King Priam react when the amorous boy had betrayed his country for a woman?

Had there been forgiveness between them?

Paris jumped out of his skin when a hand touched his arm gently, and pulled at it.

"Come away, child." Said Eudoras softly, offering an encouraging little smile. "You are tired. Let us find you a better place to lay your head down." Knowing not what else to do, and actually half-grateful, Paris stood and went where he was led. For a moment, at least.

"Where are you taking my slave?" Achilles snapped, surprising them both with his presence.

"Just down below, to see if I can find room for him to sleep somewhere, my lord."

"He will sleep with me!" Achilles responded, his voice displaying irritation and a bit of possessiveness.

"A-As you wish, my Lord." Eudoras handed him over and shot him an apologetic glance. Paris stiffened and remained silent. Presumably finished with whatever preparations needed to be made for the majority of the crew to sleep, Achilles pulled his slave down below decks to where he slept, a large net that looked to Paris like a fishing net. His master saw the question in his eyes.

"Didn't you have hammocks in Troy?"

"We slept in beds, sir." Achilles smiled at this and found blankets for each of them. Then he hopped into the hammock, situated himself largely in the middle, but a bit off to the side so as to make room for his companion, then pulled the captive prince up beside him.

"Are you comfortable?"

"If it pleases you." Achilles sighed. Unfortunately, he was beginning to discover that for some odd reason, he liked spoilt, willful, sassy-mouthed stubborn Paris much better than depressed, resigned, meek, scared Paris. But the latter Paris was completely his making, and also the Paris that would be permitted in the world he lived in. The young man's bouts of defiance amused Achilles, yes, but they would not amuse anyone else, and what sort of tumult would be caused if his warriors saw that he brooked disrespect from a prisoner of war- the lowest of the low? Nothing good would come of it.

Achilles continued to brood as he assumed Paris drifted off to sleep. It angered him, but he knew now that he wanted more than the boy's sex.

And it saddened him that what he wanted was the one thing he could not demand, even from a slave, and that he was not in the position to be able to woo the boy, and coax it from him. No, Paris' love and adoration would never belong to him. The prince, although he would become better and better at masking it, would remain resentful about all that had passed between them- who wouldn't? But maybe…maybe if he could explain things to Paris? Yes, to tell him why it would be necessary for him to act as he had today, and to make sure that the boy understood that he didn't mean it, and that he was sorry. That would patch things up, wouldn't it?

"Paris!" Achilles whispered, nudging him to wake him up. The Trojan's eyes opened immediately. He turned around, so that his back now faced the Greek, removed his blanket and pulled up his tunic until his backside was bared. Achilles gave an almost horrified gasp when he realized what the poor captive was doing. "No, I didn't wake you for that." At this, Paris situated himself in his original state.

"What is your will then, my lord?" he asked flatly.

"I wanted to- you weren't even asleep, were you?"

"No, master."

"I know you're tired. Why?"

"Because I am afraid of you, sir." The words pierced Achilles very acutely.

"Don't be. I promise I will not hurt you like that again."

"Promises made to slaves do not have to be kept, sir." His voice was monotone, Achilles could make out the bland facial expression in the dark, and he could tell that his beautiful eyes had gone cold. He'd been so hopeful about the idea he'd just had, but now he could see that there wasn't any point. The damage was done, by his own hands, no less.

"You should get some rest, little boy, go to sleep." The slave closed his eyes obediently.

When his breathing evened and Achilles was sure he slept, the warrior reached out his large and calloused hand and laid it on the impossible softness of Paris' cheek, stroking gently. When he realized what he was doing, he knew he was lost.


	10. Chapter Nine

Over and over, Achilles dreams that he is dying.

However, and much to his dismay, it is not that simple. Achilles dreams that he is back in Troy- fighting Hector. The walls of the once great city are still high and far from him, but he can see Paris' face clearly. He is the only one watching, and his face is wrought with concern. Achilles fights his best, but he is distracted. Distracted with the hope that Paris might be concerned for him as well as his brother. In his dream, Achilles looks over to Paris watching from the wall one too many times, and is not even giving Hector his attention as the elder Trojan prince cuts him down.

He is dreaming, so he doesn't feel the pain of the cold metal piercing his flesh. But what he does feel is the agony and sorrow caused by the pure joy and relief written on Paris' face as he watches him die.

Indeed, he feels it even more acutely when he wakes up alone in his bed

He has had this nightmare every night since he has been home in Phtia, musing that if his slave were to have the very same nightmare, it would not be a nightmare at all.

Upon their arrival, Achilles had decided to distance himself from Paris- both publicly and otherwise. True, Achilles' business was war, but he knew his own heart well enough to realize that if he were to indulge himself too much, he would lose control of his emotions more than he already had in concern with the Trojan. Thus, he had given orders for Paris to be put to work with the house slaves, and to be given no special consideration apart from the fact that he did not want him permanently marked.

"It will bring down his price if I should decide to sell him." He had told Eudoras, as his second in command had held Paris- hands unbound, but with the makeshift leash about his neck- awaiting orders about what to do with him. Paris had made a guffawing sort of sniff at this remark- barely audible. Achilles still didn't know whether it was a snort of disappointment because he thought his master had lied when he'd told him aboard the ship that he would never sell him, or a snort at the fact that his master was blatantly lying now. He'd had every intention to command more quietly that if Paris proved disobedient or surly that he was not to be punished at all, but rather sent straight to him.

He had _hoped_ that Paris would become himself again, and give whomever he was charged with enough sass to have him given back. It never happened…

_  
"Very well, my Lord. Shall I also leave orders for him not to be…er…touched, my Lord?"_

"What?"

"Well, the servants here are a lusty lot, my Lord. And even if they weren't one as beautiful and innocent looking as this would attract a lot of attention."

"He is not to be given attention _from anyone but me."_

"As you wish, my Lord." Said Eudoras. Achilles turned swiftly and made for the palace. Eudoras started to follow, but turned to Paris first, eyeing the rope around his neck. If they walked into the kitchen- for that was where Eudoras intended to find him work- with Paris presented the way he was now, it wouldn't lead anywhere nice for the poor lad. The soldier brought his hand up to where the rope was knotted.

"You won't try to run, will you?" he asked solemnly. His young charge laughed brokenly.

"Run? Run where? Away from you and the rest of the garrison behind us, back down to the docks and onto the ship, untie it and sail it all alone back across the ocean to the corpses of my family and countrymen lying in my destroyed city?"

Fair enough_ Eudoras thought, releasing the boy with a sympathetic glance and leading him to the palace kitchens. Once there, he left Achilles' instructions, along with the captive prince, with Memnos, the head cook._

The master of the kitchens inspected his new servant, touching his face and making an impatient noise, and mumbling something that sounded like 'impractical' as he felt of Paris' long curly locks. He prodded at the boys' chest and felt his arms almost like a doctor performing an examination, all the while Paris stood quietly and obediently, not making so much as one sound of protest. Memnos clucked his tongue as he took hold of Paris' hands.

"And what am I to do with you, little slave of the soft hands and exotic beauty? Wherever would that band of brutes find one such as you?"

"He's a Trojan." Offered one of the kitchen maids helpfully.

"Ah, you've been conquered then, have you, boy?" At this question, Paris trembled a bit, the killing and burning and raping and pillaging appearing in his mind as fresh as if it were happening again. He met Memnos' eyes briefly as his own brimmed with tears, then bowed his head as one lonely tear slipped down his cheek. However, Paris kept his composure.

"Y-Yes, sir." He said softly.

In truth, the gruff cook had once himself been a victim of the Myrmidons' sacking, and hadn't meant to hurt the poor boy's feelings. He put a soothing hand on Paris' back and pushed him towards the immense fire. "Cheer yourself, young one. You'll have no rough treatment from anyone here. Do forgive me and my mouth, didn't mean anything by it. Warm you up, now, and we'll see about something to keep you busy."

"Thank you, sir." Paris sat by the fire as he was instructed, truly grateful for a bit of respite. He'd no idea why Achilles had tossed him to the side so quickly, but he embraced it even though he did not believe it would last.

He probably thinks my sense of vanity will not allow me to toil with the rest of the slaves down here, and that I will fall to my knees and be his eager whore for a lavish chamber and fine clothing.

But Paris had no intentions of holding on to his vanity. If he could stick it out long enough in the kitchens, be humble and not mess anything up too badly, he might be able to gain back a sense of normalcy. If Achilles realized that Paris would not grovel for an elevated position, he might leave him alone. And at this point, that was what Paris had convinced himself that he wanted.

After a little while, Memnos came back and spoke to Paris softly.

"Feeling better, my young friend? Why don't you give us a hand by making a big pot of stew for the servants' supper? Nothing too strenuous for you, I hope."

"I-I am very sorry, sir." Paris started. "But I-I have never worked in a kitchen before. I don't know how to make stew, sir, or anything else for that matter. I'm so sorry-"

"Ah, well, the rumors must be true then… Prince Paris." Memnos smiled. Paris froze. He had been so relived that no one seemed to know anything about him besides the fact that he'd come from Troy.

"Please, I'm not anymore. I promise not to put on airs, or try to place myself above anyone. I'll work very hard, you'll see! If you'll only tell me how I can make the stew for everyone, I'll do it gladly. You will only have to show me once, I swear!"

"Easy now, my fine young fellow, I'll teach you. And like I said before, you don't have to worry about anyone berating or punishing you. You're safe here. Although," Memnos paused with a smile. "You'll have to beat off a good many of the lads and lasses that work here." The cook gave a signal for someone to assume the work he had been doing, and began to show the Trojan how to prepare stew. Over the next few hours, he was pleased to find that Paris did indeed work hard, and he only had to show him how to do things once. As the weeks passed, Memnos discovered that Paris was especially good at the baking of bread, and so it became his special duty to get up early in the mornings and prepare it…

Odysseus, King of Ithaca, did not like to announce himself when visiting friends. True enough, such a formality could not be avoided with acquaintances- especially noble ones. But with a true friend, Odysseus knew that he could sneak in, find out what was _really_ going on as opposed to what was presentable enough to be exposed, and be forgiven for it afterwards.

It was extremely fortunate that Achilles was a true friend, because Odysseus, upon hearing what had happened at Mycenae, was sure that he wouldn't have been able to resist investigation- friendship withstanding or no.

He crept around the lower level of the palace finding his way through the servants' passages. True, it wasn't like him at all to meander about without knowing exactly where he was headed, but he was enjoying the opportunity to seek his way incognito without having to worry about being killed for a spy if he was caught.

It was that yet unnamed hour- not yet day, yet not truly night anymore, when only the slightest trace of the sun lit the sky- barely enough to make seeing any easier. Much too early for most people to be awake, so Odysseus was genuinely caught off guard- _not_ something that was often wont to occur- when he heard a continuous thumping sound.

_Thwack!_

Thwack!

Thwack!

He had heard the sound before, and now that he couldn't place it, it would drive him half-mad if he didn't follow it to see what it was. Odysseus made a few turns and found himself on the palace kitchens.

"Kneading dough!" he berated himself out loud when he saw the young slave at the task. The exclamation startled said slave, who dropped his dough and turned about sharply. Odysseus' eyes widened with curiosity, and at this, the boy simply looked confused- and wary. There was no reason for the boy to know him, as they had never actually met. But Odysseus had been able to see the boy, and hear him quite clearly from inside the horse as he implored his father to burn it. It had fascinated the Ithacan king after it had frightened him. This boy was so foolish- and yet also more intelligent than every person in Troy.

"Whatever are you doing down here in the kitchens?" Odysseus asked.

"I…er…I am baking bread, my lord. Are you looking for someone? Everyone else is still asleep." Odysseus recalled at this point that the young Trojan had never met Odysseus in his former life as a prince, and so could not recognize him now. He watched as Paris resumed his task, not seeming at all to mind toiling at menial work while everyone, even the other slaves, still rested.

_How odd!_ The Ithacan king thought, and was only more intrigued by the boy.

"My lord?" Paris prompted as he continued kneading.

"Ah, yes. I am here to see Achilles. Do you by chance know where he is?"

"Do you, by chance, have an appointment for an audience with him? He is quite busy these days, despite a lack of people to slaughter. Besides that I doubt any of his stewards would have told you to come this early. As I said before, nearly everyone is asleep." Odysseus couldn't help but start to laugh at the boy's impudence. He was rather fond of impudence.

"I am a very old friend of his." Odysseus explained kindly. "If you would spare a moment to take me to his chamber I would be very grateful." Paris looked dolefully at his dough.

"Will you wait until I set this into the oven, please, my lord?"

"Of course, my young friend." Odysseus decided quite firmly that he liked Paris. The boy pounded the dough a few more times, then used the flat, wooden spade to place the dough into the oven and remove two baked loaves from it and place them onto a shelf to cool. He was careful to wipe the flour from his hands before he preceded The Ithacan king through the halls, so Odysseus opted _not_ to tell him that he had a bit of it on his nose.

Odysseus thought less of the boy's cleverness when he did, indeed, lead him straight to Achilles' chambers.

"If I were a spy, I could walk right into the rooms of you master while he sleeps, and it would be your fault, my twice foolish young Prince." Paris didn't even flinch at his reference.

"If you were a spy who intended to walk right into the rooms of my master, I would pity you." He turned immediately and went back to his bread, not seeing the shocked look on Odysseus' face.

Achilles, of course, had alerted from his sleep at the sound of voices outside of his chamber, but was drowsy enough not to be able to discern them properly. When Odysseus entered, Paris was already halfway back to the kitchens.

"Still in bed at this hour, Achilles?" he quipped. "No wonder nothing ever gets done around here- except apparently bread baking." Achilles laughed although he did not fully understand the jibe.

"There's not another war, is there? That seems to be the only reason you come visiting, King of Ithaca." He smiled, at ease, as always, around Odysseus, who mocked a wounded gesture at the question.

"That stings, old friend. But no, there isn't a war. Shame, really, since you seem to be so bored with your spoils from the last one."

"Spoils? What spoils? None of my men did any sacking like yours, coming out of that abominable horse. I've been meaning to tell you just how I felt about that one, you lying fox. War is a nasty business, but if you're going to fight an enemy, do so honorably. I don't hold to all of that skulking in like thieves in the middle of the night and slaughtering innocents while they sleep. I was very disappointed in you when I heard what was going to take place." At this, Odysseus, too, became serious.

"I was disappointed in myself, especially after I saw the suffering of Troy. But what could I do? There was no telling how long that war might have gone on, how many tens of thousands more might have died. It was clear that Agamemnon meant to stop at nothing, and after you killed Hector…I cannot help but feel as though I granted the city a quick death as opposed to a lingering one." They each considered this for a moment. "I am quite disappointed in what I've found out since I've been skulking around here. Once I caught wind of all the rumors about what happened since I last saw you, I was looking forward to catching you in the middle of showing your Trojan captive how us real Greek men conduct our business in the bedchamber, but I found him down in the kitchens baking. Have you got him on punishment? He _has_ got a saucy little mouth on him."

"What did the brat say to you?" Achilles demanded harshly. Odysseus' talk of Paris had aroused him and he couldn't have been angrier about it. These few months of avoiding him and trying not to think of him—for naught! He was still bewitched by the boy!

"No need to fuss about it. I found him quite amusing, actually. You'd have been much more offended at what he said than I ever would." Odysseus chuckled. For some strange reason his friend seemed appeased by this.

"Is he angry with me for putting him to work with my other slaves, then?"

"Ah no, not in the least bit from what I could tell. He looked quite content down there pounding at his dough when I caught sight of him, serene, almost. Perhaps he was imagining it was your head."

"Well then…what did you think of him?"

"He is incomparably lovely, of course. All the gossips say and then some."

"I shall have him wait on us at breakfast then, if you care to stay." Achilles offered eagerly, at which his companion simply smiled and acquiesced.

"Paris," Memnos was saying, as Paris was about to sit down and have a bit of breakfast. He had just finished with his work, and had done a good job of it, as always.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm sorry, my boy, I know you've worked hard, but you'll have to forego your meal for a bit."

"…Oh, sir? May I know why please, sir?"

"The master wishes for you to attend him, and his friend King Odysseus at his own breakfast. Don't worry, my little friend. I'm sure they'll be done with you soon enough and you can have your much deserved meal." Memnos did not mean it, as he pat Paris' back in a friendly way, but, but the young prince did not at all like the connotations that came with the phrase "they'll be done with you soon enough". Still, there was no choice at all involved for him. He could do nothing but put aside his meal and take the tray he was offered before shuffling off reluctantly to Achilles' chambers again.

He knocked politely and was bade to enter by that voice—the last voice he wanted to hear in all the world.

…and yet…

Had he not heard that voice whisper him tenderness in the palace of Agamemnon? Had he not then loved its deep and overconfident timbre?

But it didn't matter any longer. The best thing to do was to be now what he'd been striving to become—the perfect slave. He would not speak nor lift up his head nor even raise his eyes unless absolutely necessary. He would be attentive and invisible and then perhaps he would be let go.

But when he walked into the room—Almighty Zeus! It was like diving into the ocean, to be away from him so long and then be completely surrounded by his presence. And Achilles did have presence. It was heady and powerful, and Paris felt as if he were drowning, sinking more and more with each step he took towards his master.

The two royals sat on couches, with a table before them. Paris made to simply set the tray down and leave. He knew slaves served each dish of a meal during feasts and formal dinners, but surely he wouldn't be expected to now, what with just the two of them and such a small tray of food.

"No, you fool, you're supposed to serve it to us." Snapped a voice.

That voice. It shamed Paris to be called a fool by that voice deeply. He murmured his apologies contritely in a voice his master could not even hear.

"What was that, slave?" Achilles demanded.

"He says he's never done this before." Odysseus offered. The blond warrior scoffed as if offended,

"Spare me, brat. You have been toiling since one month, three weeks and twelve days. I'm sure you can serve a meal properly."

There should have been quite the silence at this, at the fact that Achilles was aware of _exactly_ how long it had been since last they had seen each other. Achilles truly had not even been _conscious_ of the fact that he'd been aware until it had slipped out of his mouth. He prayed that the boy had not noticed, that he'd missed it. It was no use praying about Odysseus. Achilles didn't even have to look at him to see his eyebrows rise at his words because he was Odysseus and Odysseus just didn't miss things. He thought of how he could clean up his slip, but ended up not having to say anything because Paris was already apologizing.

Apologizing?

"Yes, I—I know. But I just bake things and help with the stew for the servants—and sometimes help with the cleaning when they like—but…but I have not served any meals since I was put to work, sir—master, I mean." Paris wrung his hands and shuffled his feet a little, truly ashamed that Achilles had found fault with him so quickly. He dropped to his knees and began to arrange the food…onto the plates that were sitting on the table.

_Idiot!_ Paris chided himself. _If I hadn't been so nervous I would have realized they were sitting there waiting for me._ Paris wanted to sink into the ground and vanish, and focused every ounce of his attention on his task. He did not notice his master staring.

Achilles was wholeheartedly considering self-castration. He had practically banished the Trojan captive, made every effort to avoid him altogether. But here he was now, clad in the servants livery. Pure white, to contrast against the black of the Myrmidons' garments. A short and simple tunic that cut across the chest diagonally so that it exposed one nipple. One dark, perfect nipple that Achilles knew was beyond sensitive. One nipple that he wanted to reach out and touch…lick, tease, pull, bite, torment. He could _pretend_ to have only called for Paris at his guest's behest, but had he not offered in the first place?

One month, three weeks, twelve days and about seven hours. Almost two months of avoidance and frustration, two months of coming into his hands with the Trojan's name on his lips, two months of plunging into lusty chambermaids and stable boys for a fleeting and empty climax for what? To have his slave here in front of him fully clothed, and performing a task as innocuous as any could be, and want to pounce upon him and ravage him atop the table where he so meticulously set up the meal—Odysseus and anyone else be damned.

Paris on the other hand, dared not look at anyone. He only knew that simply being in the presence of Achilles unnerved him even though he had raped him quite viciously before. If he did not concentrate he would err again. But Gods it was hard, Achilles was so very _close_ to him!

Odysseus looked on in amusement. It was ridiculously obvious to him exactly what was transpiring. He opted to speed things along—and of course have fun while doing so.

"They can't have been working the lad too hard—such lovely hands. Come here, boy, and feed me with them." To his credit, Paris didn't even flinch. He went obediently to Odysseus' couch, took his plate, and began placing bits of the meal into his mouth gingerly.

Achilles was beet red and scowling with jealousy in an instant, but how could he begrudge his dear friend the use of a slave? It would be impolite. In the meantime, Odysseus had made a name for the little game he was playing. 'See how jealous the Demi-God gets before he explodes'. He sucked on Paris' slender digits blatantly, and sent the boy back once he was sure his friend would not say anything.

At length, Odysseus said "Take off your clothes, boy." Paris reddened, but started to obey immediately.

"Why did you tell him to take off his clothes?" Achilles snapped.

"Because I want to see his body." Came the simple response.

"He's scrawny. It's nothing special." Paris' garment dropped to the floor as soon as Achilles said this, and it made him look like a fool indeed. And it was not exactly calming, to see Paris naked body again. Odysseus stood and went over to the boy, scrutinizing silently at first.

"Nothing special? Where are you hiding finer slaves than this one, Achilles? I have not been introduced to their charms, that's for certain." He reached out and stroked Paris' belly "Such fine, taut skin, wouldn't you agree?"

Achilles bit his lip and nodded.

"And what a fine mane of curls." He ran his fingers through the luxuriant mop and sniffed it. "Ah, he smells as sweet as a honey cake."

"I suppose." Achilles grated. Odysseus' hands traveled down from the back of the captive's head to his rounded buttocks, feeling him tense up. He let a finger slide down just where the small of the boy's back parted into two.

"And how smooth and tight he is back here, a temple of delight! And to think, you just snatched him up—didn't have to pay anything. But how much _would_ you pay, if by chance you had to?"

"I don't know—I wouldn't."

"You don't mean that, surely. A finer specimen I have never laid eyes—or hands—upon. However, if you wish to sell him, I would readily give you a thousand pieces of gold." Achilles laughed, scoffing at such an overtly generous offer.

"You my friend are much too smart to be willing to pay such a ridiculous sum for a slave that could actually be useful, much less a soft, spoiled boy like this."

"Perhaps. But you know that if you saw such a beauty on the block somewhere that you wouldn't pass up the opportunity to own him."

"Very well, I'll admit to that."

"What then, would your bid be?"

"I wouldn't pay a copper penny more than a hundred silvers, Odysseus, honestly." Paris quivered. Ashamed that his master would say such a thing, ashamed even more so that he cared.

"You'd be outbid so quickly the utterance would be futile. Anything less than six hundred gold would be laughed at at any slave market and you know it."

"Well, your thousand pieces is ludicrous. Give me a reasonable price."

Paris wanted very much to cry. They had taken everything from him, these Greeks, why must they be so cruel now? Had he not been meek and obedient and accepting of his misery as any slave should be? What was he being punished for? Just as the tears began to gather, seemingly wrenched by the haughty, biting laughter, one thought pushed them back, dried them. Paris remembered that even though his foolhardy mistake had expedited the suffering of his countrymen, it _had_ been a mistake—that he was a good person, and not malicious like these men who now owned him. He would never do to another what they did to him. That he was still a Trojan, and his history was rich and valiant and beautiful even though he had not done it justice. And that he was loved—once –truly loved. By his mother and father, before they died. By Helen, and Andromache, wherever they were. By Oenone. By all of his friends, and by Hector most of all. Loved deeply and truly, that was what mattered most. So when Odysseus and Achilles finally declared how much they would be willing to pay for the young captive, Paris smiled and inclined his head—a slave's gesture of thanks—and there was no facetiousness in it.

Achilles did not know whether or not this pleased him, but he had no time to think about it.

"Gentle of temperament, to top it all off, it seems. I find that after all this banter I have lost my appetite—for food, at least. I must have a taste of him before I go, and I would prefer sooner to later."

"…What?"

"The boy I mean. It shouldn't take long; I'm hard as a stone already. Shall I just take him across the hall? I'll have him back to you before you've had done with your breakfast." Odysseus did not laugh, but it took up every bit of his effort.

Achilles could only nod helplessly. He always loaned his friend whichever slave the Ithacan king took a fancy to—it was rudimentary hospitality. How could he let a mere thrall come between his best and oldest friend? It made no sense at all.

He still wanted to do it, though. When Paris, obviously stiff but still compliant, moved to set down the platter on the low table before his master. As he knelt, he looked up at Achilles. There was only the subtlest hint of pain in the slave's eyes. There was no room for all the foolishness of what had past between warrior and servant in the past few moments—or the past few years, for that matter, in those honey brown orbs.

_"how could you?"_ They whispered. Achilles tore his gaze away sharply before his own face could show emotion. He could not bear to look at him.

Paris, after having set down the tray followed Odysseus to a vacant bedchamber across the long hallway. As they entered the room and the King shut the door behind them, Paris could have sworn that he heard the other man laugh. He did not bother turning around to face his master-on-loan as he climbed up onto the bed—positioning himself on his hands and knees and preparing himself mentally for the worst.

"Don't be afraid, lad. This is going to be fun." Said King Odysseus.

He was laughing! Paris shivered, but for a long while the Ithacan simply sat on the bed beside Paris in his bestial position. And then he said.

"Give him just a few more minutes—he's concerned about offending me, you see." Paris didn't have the faintest idea what Odysseus was talking about, he just wished the man would have done with it already. As if on cue, Odysseus began to touch the boy, both massaging his cock and pushing a few fingers into his anus. Paris both moaned with pleasure and whimpered in pain.

"Sorry, but this has to sound real, and I don't think you'd play along, given the choice." He continued to fondle the boy until all of a sudden he began to count backwards. "Five…..four……" he pulled his hand out of Paris' entrance. "…three……two…." And away from Paris' cock.

Achilles had been pacing outside the door in a frenzy since almost the very moment his friend had made off with his slave boy. He could hear sounds, definitely the Trojan, but couldn't tell whether they were from pain or pleasure. Not that it mattered—the thought of either circumstance maddened him equally. He knew it was wrong, knew that a friend should come before a…

…what exactly _was_ Paris? Not a lover, but obviously not just a slave to Achilles either. He was a prize, Achilles decided. A prize that displayed a triumph in a war, a victory over Agamemnon, a conquering of a people. Yes, this was why he was valuable, why he should belong to Achilles and Achilles alone. It was rude, and it broke all of the laws of guest-friendship, but Achilles couldn't stand it, couldn't let it happen. He broke down the door to the room occupied by his friend and his prisoner.

"…One." And the door broke down. Paris whirled around from his position in shock. The feeling of relief he felt when he saw his master standing in the doorway made him nauseous.

"Your wife!" Achilles shouted at Odysseus.

"What about her?"

"You're…you're about to dishonor her, that's what. I won't let you do that—not under my roof and with my slave. I have too much respect for her."

"I have rutted many of your slaves before."

"Yes well…that was before you were married."

"No it wasn't." Odysseus protested.

"Yes it _was_!" Achilles insisted sharply, forgetting all about his friendship with the Ithacan. Right now he could almost _throttle_ him. And what was he giggling about?

"Ah. Then I must be mistaken. Of course you are right, I cannot let such a lowly one come between me and my lady wife." He got up and walked towards the door. "Thank you _so_ much for… showing me what I hold dear, my friend." And he left. As he walked away, he could tell that this trick was wasted on the warrior now—poor idiot—but also that it wouldn't take _too_ long for him to see straight.

With Odysseus gone, all Achilles could do was to stare at Paris' positioned form. He was still rigid with desire, and seeing his captive like this was sending him over the edge. He was on top of the boy in seconds, spitting hastily into his palm and coating his rock hard length before delving into the young prince.

_"Ohh, Zeus. Let me never be parted from this boy you have given to me_ he thought as Paris' tightness coaxed his seed from him in but one mighty thrust. He collapsed, bringing the boy down to a laying position along with him as he crushed the slight Trojan with his weight. Smiling, he closed his eyes to bathe in the afterglow.

Paris, on the other hand, was not so happy or lethargic. It was not so easy being chattel when he was expected to serve sexually like this—to be treated like a whore and fucked without any consideration of his feelings. He realized with much dismay that him being in the kitchens had only acclimated him to being a good _house_ slave, which he did not find so deplorable. But it did nothing to get him used to being his master's whore as he had been on the ship. In fact, it was more of a _dis_service, since everyone in the kitchen was so kind.

Could he bear it again, serving his master in this capacity? Being nothing but the warmth and tightness his body could offer those that used it? It didn't matter, really. Achilles would have what he desired. As his master drifted of into a blissful sleep, Paris didn't try to free himself from under the man and return to the kitchens. He knew he wouldn't be baking bread again for a very, very long time. Burying his head into a pillow, he wept.


End file.
